


Ragazza Magica Renza Veneti

by Guessmyname



Category: Mahou Shoujo Lyrical Nanoha | Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha, Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: 'This Totally Isn't Venice By The Way', Gen, OC cast, Police, Post-Canon, Worldbuilding, mafia, no canon characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:03:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 68,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guessmyname/pseuds/Guessmyname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the troubled Aligned World of Caglica, a lone Puella Magi fights to survive and protect her city. But the job is not as easy as it sounds, Daemons not as mindless as they appear and between the Puella, the TSAB, the mafias and the Judiciary, the island-cities will never, ever, be quite as simple and quiet as anyone would like...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue Im Caglica

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [To The Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/21363) by Hieronym. 



_A/N: I'd like to make a shout out to the primary inspirations behind this fic, before we start; Infinity (MGLN) by Moczo for sheer quality of writing, characterisation and humour; Game Theory (MGLN) by Aleph whose spectacular worldbuilding I am merrily cribbing off at every turn and To The Stars by Hieronym (PMMM), which I consider the quintessential Puella sci-fi fic, again for the worldbuilding and the exploration of what it would be to be a Puella Magi in Madoka's new world (though I admit I diverge a bit on how daemons work for this. I loved the idea of the Labyrinths too much to let go of them...)._

_Hopefully, I can live up to these fine works._

_A/N (03/06/14): Additionally, cleaned up and edited the earlier chapters (including fixing all the wonky German with the aid of Gnarker from SB, though the other languages are still liable to be terrible). As the observant may have noticed, we also have chapter titles now as well!_

_Please enjoy, Guessy._

* * *

It looked like a car accident.

Or at least that was her best guess. The wreckage spiralled in every direction; extending deceptively as far as the eye could see. Plastics, wood, metals, condensed mana shells; every make of every type - including a good many she honestly couldn't recognise - spiralling and colliding each way and every way. Between spaghettying roads and street poles that seemed to have fused into great iron trees, the vehicles spun and drifted and collided like an endless sea... where she was deep underwater.

Renza shuddered. It was always disorientating, breaching into a Daemon Barrier. The glimmering tear in non-reality was already sealing behind her back; the point where she'd broken in, white, pristine streets of the Polincia Boulevard included, vanishing away into nothing, as if it had never been there.

Appropriate. The real world had ceased to have any relation to this place.

She stood; where she'd breached the barrier in realspace apparently translating to a crayoned impression of a dirt path inside the Barrier. There was signage, all seeming to be pointing her towards the centre, but none of their text was readable; all strange, curvic symbols; no language she recognised.

She shook her head, distracted. Long coral-blue hair fluttered unnaturally in the distorted air; kept pulling for attention in the corner of her eye.

She flicked it out of the way. Yes, it was long, probably too long given what her friends kept telling her, but she had a personal a reason for that. Eyes scanning the false horizon, she tensed...

Nothing shot at her. No bolts of light screamed out to meet her. Looked like they hadn't caught her breaking in.

_Perfect._

She scratched the back of her neck. Pinned above her hair on a flouncy white ribbon, a polished gem rested, in some many ways more than it appeared. She'd thought it had been a Device the first time she'd held it; that notion had been disabued quickly.

Fingers tapped lightly against it; a smooth, hard, glassy surface she could feel through the conjured the gloves. She'd transformed before she broke in - common sense, really - and with that, any last pretence of still being in Valezorro had faded away.

As a civilian E-Rank, she'd never honestly tried supporting a proper Barrier Jacket; she could only imagine if this Puella form was anything like it. A deep, royal blue dress a little too fond of ornate white lace and ruffles, which paired well with the floofy disconnected sleeves... and terribly with the solid, entirely practical white boots. It wasn't customisable, despite many attempts trying. At least it hadn't come in red...

For as long as you didn't look at it too closely, it could hopefully pass for a fancy Mid-Childean style Barrier Jacket; either of a more civilian bent or just someone with too much free time on their hands. She certainly hoped it would. Of course, _why_ she was wearing a Barrier Jacket would raise it questions all by itself, but it was easier to lie about that. Keeping the secret here was... tricky. Girls supposedly had it easier on Non-Administered worlds but she didn't plan on heading off to any of those any time soon. For better or worse, Caglica was home.

Which was why she was here, defending it.

" _Kyubey; the situation?"_

" _Ten, in the centre of the barrier."_ The telepathic return was calm and unhurried, sounding a bit like a small, whispering child at the back of her mind. _"The miasma is thick though; it's best not to linger."_

" _I'm on my way."_

This was always the best part.

Renza leaped, and in seconds was covering distance in a blur, jumping car to car, truck to truck, bouncing off the lamp-posts and knocking the motes of light they carried out into the twisting sky. Each kick redirected her, a constant game of coral-blue pinball that just _flowed._

Even for a Puella Magi, she knew she was fast.

She felt it; a subtle tug at the tip of her spine where her soul gem rested. Instinctively she looked down, skidding on the ribbon roads to slow her momentum for a proper look.

Ten people, just as the Kyubey said, sitting in the centre of an oversized roundabout; a crayon sketch of black asphalt and white painted lines as if viewed through a bucket of water. Too-tall figures surrounded them, made of white cloaks and bald heads ending above the jaw in a glowing, abstract, pixelated mess. Daemons. Just over a dozen crowded around the inert civilians, standing tall at twice the size of a man, emitting a low, brassy hum like priests in reverence. She wondered if the ancient Priest Kings looked something like this. Renza could hear their droning even from her lofty heights.

...She wondered if it was a Puella thing. It wouldn't be the first time her new nature had surprised her.

Something to look into later, anyway. She crouched down into a coiled spring, a mental command calling a pair of ornate silver axes into her hands; erupting from her floofy sleeves in clear defiance of their inability to logically fit up there.

The metal was a familiar, natural weight; her grip solid and ready. She er, wasn't completely sure why her wish had seen fit to provide her with _axes_ of all things (it seemed a little brutish; swords were infinitely more heroic), but she'd never had the courage to ask.

She focused, counting properly this time. 13... 14 Daemons. The chanting drone built steadily in pitch and volume, and the faint, sickly smell of miasma began to creep up even to her distant vantage point. Kyubey was right; the civilians wouldn't last much longer.

Still... a little over a dozen that were unaware of her presence, and she had a decent high ground. Risky, but this could work. She swallowed.

The civilians enthralled didn't leave her much choice, anyway.

" _Kyubey, take cover."_

" _I have."_

Dropped wasn't the right word. She launched; her platform of a multicoloured plastic semi shattering under the force as Renza lanced forward; a blue and silver missile. She flung the axes in her hand outwards, sending them whistling away in symmetrical spinning arcs converging on the monsters below. Two more pairs took flight similarly before she drew her final set and prepared for landing.

Not that she'd slowed down, or anything.

The first hint of her arrival was a resounding sonic boom that shook waves through the distorted air of the motorway barrier. Followed shortly by the largest concentration of daemons abruptly detonating in a conflagration of sound and noise as a royal blue rocket slammed down from the heavens. The wave of scything axes, thrown to strike all their targets at the same time, followed next, sweeping down at the six furthest from Renza's crash site. Ten in total fell in the first strike, their disrupted forms breaking away into pixels and flakes of pure white light, their drones rising to a distorted scream as the rubble cascaded around them.

Absolute annihilation, in an instant. In a world of horrific powers and fragile wielders, he who struck first made king.

...But now for the tricky part.

The four remaining reacted immediately, dispersing and flowing backwards in a retreating formation, building distance and spewing forth lances of deadly energy in unpredictable gutts and bouts that pierced through the clouds, zeroing in directly on her position.

And Renza's crater was _big._

Still reeling from the sheer power of her dive, she forced herself out with a burst of magic in her legs, feeling the heat of the return volley passing way, _way_ too close past her head. The daemons were aware of her now, backing away and splitting up, trying to pen her down in a vicious crossfire until one of them could land a finishing strike or the torrent of lances could tear her to ribbons.

The back of her neck felt very exposed.

Skidding against the false-asphalt, she charged; desperate to catch at least one of them before they could relocate to their advantage. Her magic made her good for one thing; mad, crazy dashes and crashing into things. Race in, race close, hack it to pieces, keep going. Generally a pretty good strategy, except for the part where daemons could cheat.

The nearest daemon she lunged for sank straight down through the ground; her axes whistling through nothing but air.

Acting quickly, she slid into a roll that bled off momentum - with the daemons' uncanny accuracy, doing anything in a straight line would be suicide - using the motion to disguise her tosses as the axes flung out from her hands to zero in on her next target.

Trying to get clever and take two out at once simply wasn't worth it. Her designated victim swept out of the way of the first axe and almost dodged the second, taking a spinning hit to its side that sent it reeling and rolling away through the ground. A definite strike, but no clue if she'd actually killed it.

No time to get one either. The next barrage came down and she was already moving; attention switching to the attackers that remained. The one she'd winged would be down for at least a few minutes, and she had to find the one she missed first before it could snipe her in the back. For the next five minutes, 'Out of Action' was good enough. The future was miles away.

The two she could see stood on the opposite side of the roundabout. The enthralled crowd of civilians - office workers and engineers, from what Renza's spared glance could guess - sat directly in the centre, still listlessly staring into nothing and mindless of the artisan carnage around them. Charging through _that_ would be suicide for her and death for the civilians; the daemons wouldn't kill them off-hand whilst they were being drained, but she knew taking out a Puella would hold far greater priority. So she took to the ribbon roads.

Each landing redirecting her velocity with a flick of her foot, she danced and weaved amongst the spinning cars and road signs like a mad, coral pinball as volleys of light turned everything behind her into painted slag. She ricocheted her way through the mayhem, swinging out from the side with axes ready, coming back around to the opposite end of the roundabout to find-

The daemons, of course, had moved as well.

Whilst she could not dash past the civilians for fear of casualties, the daemons had no such compunctions. The two she'd been trying to flank in the first place had taken the quite simple route of crossing between the civilians themselves, putting her right back in the same situation as when she'd started. The third reappeared as she watched; straight up in the middle of the crowd, spitting out lances alongside its fellows as if daring her to charge. There was no sign of the fourth.

_Bastards!_

Heading for the roads had been a mistake; the only thing she'd gotten was further away. She couldn't pull back for another skydive either; they'd only follow her and she wouldn't get the distance. And that stars-damned bastard in the centre knew it.

Well, fine. Fuck him. Her axes didn't fly in straight lines.

Nothing said they had to fly in predictable arcs, either.

With outstretched arms, she _flung_. The axes she'd been carrying flew out in curved trajectories, spinning around a car and a battery carrier carved from wood. They arced in on the two at the back as if a distraction, making their targets shift positions without a skip in their barrage. More fool them.

Renza couldn't make them dance about like gnats, but she'd found through trial, error and a lot of broken fenceposts that she could tweak her axe trajectories in mid air. Put simply, the curve of the arcs along which they flew could be controlled to great effect by making small adjustments in their spin. It only worked inwards; trying something crazy like a reverse shot would fail immediately as it robbed them of momentum and dropped them out of the sky. But making them arc _faster?_ Yeah, she could do that.

The pair whistled past the central daemon with barely a flutter of its cloak, the lone figure content to completely ignore them in favour of upping its barrage in support of its targeted allies. As a consequence, it missed the axes' abrupt increase in speed, slicing around in sudden, spiral curves. They crossed once, behind its head, before spinning around in an ever tightening circle that put them in a direct collision course with-

The creature had just enough time to veer backwards in what Renza sincerely hoped was panic before the twin axes smashed straight through its face. Yes. That had definitely been satisfying.

The last two dropped out though the floor with a parting volley of bolts, depriving her of targets. She let her control on the axes fade, letting them careen off above the civilians to finally crash somewhere within the automobile sea. The captives in question hadn't even blinked.

She didn't miss a beat. Landing in the centre of the group, she punched a hand into the ground and raised a... well.

In a circle around the would-be victims, the illusionary matter that made up the pavement erupted in a shower of crayon bits and plasticine. Giant, _zweihander_ axes with heads the size of car bonnets - copied from a Belkan museum actually; it's where she'd got the idea - replete in silver and blue, rose up in a criss-crossed, interlocking formation, creating a protective fence that...

...no. Calling it a Shield, in the Mid-Childean sense, would be an insult to Shields. The defence was purely physical and, as she knew from bitter experience, littered with gaps painfully easy to snipe through. But it was something. With the amount of debris careening around - a lot of it her own fault - it was better safe than sorry. They were what she was fighting for after all.

The last two daemons arose on opposite ends. She leapt.

First, she had to break their fire. Two axes flung out, one at each target. There was no way they were going to hit, and sure enough they didn't, but it forced them to move and disrupted their line of fire. Those precious seconds got her out of her own axe-dome.

Second... well, it didn't really matter which she went for first. Her leap left her closer to one over the other, so she went straight for that. Obviously this meant the other would be that much further away afterwards, but what could she do?

The daemon she descended on sank immediately, but she had the answer to that. Faster than it could flee, an axe flew out; at such short range it caught it right at the base at the intersection with the floor. Roughly equivalent to a punch through the lung, she guessed; the giant's sheer size doing it no favours. Clean kill; it broke in half and was dissolving even as she crashed into it herself scant moments later.

So one left.

Renza panted, beginning to feel the strain. A pressing weight build on the back of her neck; a symptom of her soul gem running low on power. Were it at her front, she could at least keep an eye on it.

Something triggered. An instinctive reaction flared and she spun into an immediate roll, axe lashing out behind her as she spun.

At her back, the last daemon broke in two. White flakes drifted out like a collapsing snowledge as it died with a mournful tone.

...Renza laughed, the stress bleeding out. The past two times now, the final daemon had done the exact same thing. With the her soul gem where it was she... well, it rather invited being shot in the back.

" _Renza!"_

The little whispering voice.

"Ah, Kyubey! Are you alright?"

A little white creature about the size of a cat, with doubled up ears; one set feline containing the second set, long and floppy, ending with floating metal rings that nonchalantly disregarded the lack of anything to hold them in place. It scampered along the tattered, not-quite-asphalt ground before flowing up her leg and up onto her head in fast, practised motion.

It felt warm, but barely weighed a thing.

" _Fine, thanks to you."_ It's mouth, she knew, would be completely static in its fixed, calculatedly cute smile as the creature surveyed the battlefield. _"Your tactics are improving."_

"Ehehe, thank you!"

The axe-wall now redundant, she let it drop and came over to examine the civilians, one eye watching the false sky.

"This Barrier is taking a while to-"

" _Renza!"_

The Kyubey's warning barely came in time. A spear of light flashed beneath her, exploding her inner thigh in a stream of bright red gore that flashed before her eyes.

Time hung, for a moment. It didn't even seem to hurt.

Then the pain crashed down around her, her legs collapsing like a doll on cut strings as her entire leg caught fire in agony and she was colliding with the pavement and the white creature leapt off her head and -

There was enough left in her to immediately roll aside, scraping past the follow-up volley that lashed craters into the not-concrete in a hail of light, sparkles and crayon powder. Behind her, in the vague direction pointed by her failing legs, right where she'd cut the last one in two, a daemon rose.

A flutter of pixelate flakes caught her attention; a small, granulated gash trailing sparks of light from its side. Recognition came immediately. The one she hadn't quite killed at the beginning. The one she'd winged five minutes ago. She wanted to sob, pain eating through her limbs as red so much red ran away and pooled beneath-

" _Renza!"_

The little Kyubey's distraction nearly cost it dearly; the daemon diverting its attentions immediately and spitting further fire and light, forcing the smaller creature to scamper and flee with spears of energy stabbing at its tail. Renza gritted her teeth, holding in a scream.

A giant axe, bigger than a bus, erupted out from the floor and shattered the daemon like a snowglobe; a cloud of white, pixelated flakes that drifted away into nothingness in peace and serenity.

The axe toppled on its side with a ground shattering clang.

Her final attack. Still working on it after figuring out that wall thing. S-Supposed to be flashier than that...

" _Renza!"_

The little voice sounded close. Behind her head.

" _I've collected some of the cubes. Hold still; I'm going to shut down your pain response."_

Something soft and warm touched something deep inside her, in some indescribable place. Her legs went numb.

" _Don't try to stand."_

For several moments, she just lay there and wheezed. Controlled her breathing. Air in, air out. _Breathe._ Around her, the barrier cracked and faded. The insane diorama did nothing as apocalyptic as collapse in on itself; it simply faded, drifting away, erasing itself in a blur of pixels. She was lying on the top of a building in the Economic District, amongst the glittering white spires and masts, bleeding red bright and lush out from her leg as the barcas skimmed along the canalways below on their light antigrav and gulls called somewhere overhead and that group of enthralled office workers she'd forgotten about were starting to stir-

Not even a mental command, more like an instinctive tug and her dress cascaded away in a peaceful flutter of blue petals. An equally blue, egg-like shape resolved in her hand for a moment, blurred and unresolved, before shifting into a silver ring on her finger; something normal and irrelevant.

And so Renza Veneti became an ordinary girl with a hole in her leg and a soul in her hand, passing out with a smile.


	2. Nothing So Serious

"...I'm sorry I can't be more helpful." Renza apologised, clutching the bedsheet that pooled around her waist, her blue hair tied away in a ponytail for convenience's sake. Her civilian Jacket had been configured into a white hospital gown, her name and age displayed on her chest for easy identification by the staff. Bright sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows of the _P_ _oliclinico_ _S_ _erenità_ ; Valezorro's central hospital. The atmosphere was clean and sterile, pleasant and airy. They'd even given her her own private room in the Accidents and Emergency Ward, though presumably in deference to the two officials sitting before her.

The detectives - _Ispettore_ \- from the Valezorro City Judiciary hung their heads. They made a contrasting pair; a tired, sunken, middle-aged man with shaggy charcoal hair trapped in that twilight period between youth and old age, next to a woman with clearly Belkan features - blue eyes and blonde hair cut above the neck - sitting neatly and attentively, the very model of a polite but firm investigator that projected so much more confidence than the shabby heap sitting next to her. Both wore the dull grey and Caglican Blue of the Judiciary Office, the sharp fitting suits accentuating both the man's weariness and the woman's professionalism.

Behind them both and visible only to Renza, a Kyubey sat atop a shelving unit, overlooking the proceedings with an intermittent swish of its tail. It had to handle the cover-up, after all.

"It's quite alright." The man said, his voice surprisingly calm and focused for his shabby appearance, leaning forwards on bony elbows. Despite being clearly somewhere in his 30s, his air reminded her vaguely of that of a kindly grandfather.

If that was true, the woman made for a very stern aunt, or possibly elder sister. "Are you sure you can't remember anything?"

"I'm sorry; I blacked out after I was hurt. I didn't see what happened."

"Were the group that brought you in present at the time?"

"No."

"Did you know any of the people in that group?"

"No."

"Do you have any idea how you found yourself on that roof?"

"No."

The detectives exchanged a glance.

"I'm sorry." She apologised weakly.

The woman slumped her shoulders whilst the man clapped his knees, back creaking as he stood. He offered her an apologetic smile.

"Well, _santina_ , I'm sorry we've taken up so much of your time. Your family will want to see you; wouldn't want to keep them."

Renza nodded. "Thank you."

The man held the door open to allow the sister-doctor to poke her head through.

"Your father is waiting outside." she said, as the detectives filed out the room. "Is now a good time?"

She assented, smiling. "Yes, of course!"

The sister-doctor nodded and left, whispering a few words in Belkan outside before the door reopened.

Her old man lumbered in with worry in his eyes. His face was craggy and sunbeaten, looking almost scarred; something his current expression did nothing to help.

"Renza..." He breathed.

She smiled weakly. "Sit, _padre_ , please."

Head bowed, the man obeyed, dragging one of the chairs to her bedside. It seemed almost comically small when he sat on it, creaking as it took his weight, his arms crossing over the back of the seat.

"Renza... what happened?"

"Like I told them, padre. I was hurt, then I woke up here. I don't know anything else."

He breathed out, hoarse, giant hands gripping one of hers in a rough but warm, cradling grip.

" _Padre..._ it's okay. It's alright. The doctors are fixing me up."

"I just..."

"The investigators will find out what happened." She patted his hands with her free. "Don't worry."

Slowly, the man nodded. "If you're sure."

She smiled, tilting her head. "I am."

He let out one final breath, the weight lifting from his frame, letting his face break into a gentle smile.

"Alright then. I've called in at school; they know you're here."

"What about your work?"

He snorted. "They'll let a man visit his daughter when she's hurt. Be sure of that."

She giggled. Her system was still full of painkillers and even though her Puella nature rendered them useless, by reducing her connection to her gem she could replicate the effects close enough so as not to alarm the ward nurses. A metal and plastic cast covered her injured leg, hidden under the bedsheets, dispensing mana at regular intervals and enticing new cells to grow. Several Physical Heals had been cast on her already; supposedly her body was reacting well; she'd be out in a few days. On crutches, or so the hospital would think, but out.

"Get well soon, _mia belle_." He prayed, still holding her hand. "I don't want to lose you."

Somewhere along the line, the Kyubey had disappeared. Probably tailing the detectives. She looked back down at her father, and patted his head.

"You won't." Renza promised. "I'm right here."

* * *

"I doubt I need to tell you this, but any comments would be appreciated, _Schwester-doktor_."

The Serenità sister-doctor sighed. It had been a long day and Fraulein Veneti had been an... odd case. It was only natural the Judiciary would be asking questions about it. Having left the room, they stood now in the corridor before the very seat Veneti's father had been waiting; the helpful but busy sister-doctor and the two stoic but polite Ispettore.

The issue wasn't that she didn't want to say anything; she desperately did. The issue was that she didn't really _have_ any information to give, beyond what obvious facts the Ispettore could and doubtless had deduced themselves.

The paediatrician wrung her hands in frustration.

"I'm sorry, Frau Buhr, Herr Pinici." She explained, pronouncing the man's surname perfectly despite the linguistic shift, "But I really can't explain it. The wound wasn't magical; there's no foreign mana traces on her. If I had to guess I'd say some kind of industrial accident, but..."

...But that couldn't explain why she was found on the rooftop of an office building. And all three of them knew it.

"Thank you for your assistance regardless, Schwester-doktor." The female investigator - Buhr - said, bowing politely as the other, Pinici, echoed the sentiment with a nod.

"Will you keep the Church informed?" She asked.

Buhr's lip quirked. "It'll be on the news, I'd imagine."

"We'll be keeping her school up to date in any case." Pinici advised, his Belkan impeccable. The weary man bowed politely. "Though please understand there are issues of confidentiality. We cannot comment on ongoing investigations."

The doctor smiled, familiar with the issue. "I understand. Please contact me if you need anything else, though I doubt she'll be staying here long. She's healing very well!"

Pinici smiled. "We're glad to hear it, of course. Thank you for your assistance."

"A pleasure!"

They shook hands, and the sister-doctor went on her way, off to visit the other wards. The detectives left in the in the opposite direction towards the Serenità's docking stations.

"Well, Fred?" The man asked when they were safely back inside their judicial barca, hovering gently on the waterline. "What do you make of it?"

Junior Ispettore Freiderike Buhr frowned in the driver's seat, tapping her chin.

"Hard to say. Crime scene is clean but that leg injury definitely wasn't normal. Lack of security coverage and witnesses is suspicious too."

She shrugged in frustration. "If it's an assassination attempt it must have taken a lot of work, but they've hardly hidden their tracks. Last we see of her is on the Boulevard, then she shows up on a _roof_..."

Domhnall Pinici, Senior Ispettore, grunted his agreement. An assassination attempt with a high level of concealment... and a very conspicuous kill method. It just didn't add up. And all this for a girl from the slum-docks? Where was the motive?

It went without saying that someone had been trying to kill her; neither of them doubted that. You didn't see those kind of wounds from accidents; it was a high energy, non-magical burn, and focused too. Those just didn't _happen_ on the pedestrian boulevards or Economic rooftops with zero accompanying evidence.

If the girl had been able to put up a Shield or a proper Barrier Jacket, it wouldn't even have worked, he had to reflect, bitterly. The perils of being a low Rank.

Freiderike looked across. "What about the strike angle?"

"I have Diarmuid working on it." Domhnall said, looking down at the bulky black box shape on his forearm. "Diarmuid?"

[ **Sea, mo Rí?** ]

"How's the trajectory assessment coming?"

[ **Tá siad fós ar siúl, mo Rí.** ]

"Very good. Notify me when they're complete. And request a warrant for information on the Veneti family."

[ **Mar is mian leat, mo Rí.** ]

"It usually doesn't take him that long." Freiderike observed neutrally.

"Mhn." The tired man sighed. Waiting around here wouldn't solve anything; they'd have better luck returning to the station and utilising the resources there. There was just one thing left he had to do.

"Diarmuid, petition Director Pascal to have Renza Veneti placed under the Witness Protection Program."

[ **Sea, mo Rí. However, be advised; all positions under the WPP are filled.** ]

"Try anyway." He ordered.

[ **Sea, mo Rí.** ]

They were obliged to at least try. Freiderike watched the device sadly, already used to this situation.

However strange the scenario, an attacked slum-dock girl just _wasn't_ going to get the Judiciary's attention beyond the obligatory glance that had send them her way. The odd complications they'd noted already just made it more likely to be dropped because it wasn't worth the resources. The Judiciary had bigger problems, after all. Short of this highlighting a much bigger fish for the Judiciary to be aware of... not much was going to come of it.

Domhnall tapped the dashboard, feeling old. "Let's head back."

Freiderike nodded, putting their barca in gear and feeling the hover engines whirr into life as the control circuit switched from the dock's power grid to her own magic. It drifted out from the Policlinico Serenità into the waterway, before jutting into life and merging seamlessly into the traffic skimming the Valezian Canals in the direction of the Judiciary District.

Neither noticed their passenger, sitting in the back seat, tail aswishing.

* * *

"Maaan, Ranza, you really get all the fun!"

"Eh-eheh..."

Odette Camarr sighed to herself as she walked into the hospital room. Samara was already there - as she'd heard from out in the hallway - monopolising their classmate's head in a game of noogie, blue and black hair flying everywhere in her enthusiasm.

"Give her a rest Sam; she's had a hard time."

Samara Le Bien pouted, vibrant black hair dangling around her captive's nose, and stuck out her tongue, cuddling Renza's head closer. The smaller girl seemed used to it though, putting up with her friend's affections and smiling pleasantly at her arrival.

Odette placed her bouquet of flowers (blue carmillions; symbols of good health) into the vase provided, half full of similar contributions already. Samara moved aside to let them exchange kisses on each cheek before they pulled back, Odette examining her bed-ridden school friend with a critical eye.

"...You really are recovering fine." She observed, surprised.

Renza giggled, a tiny 'ehehe'. "I told you, Odi, I'm okay. They're letting me out tomorrow."

"Eh?!" Samara gasped, leaning almost entirely over the bed (almost knocking Odette out of the way) to stare Renza right in the eyes. "That's fast!"

Odette, standing back, shook her head with secret relief. "I guess it wasn't that serious then."

Renza grinned merrily at the both of them. "Nope!"

The mood in the room relaxed, and Odette flopped (elegantly) into a nearby seat, flicking her braided ponytail over the back before it got trapped. Procuring a clementine from her pocket, she began to peel it with familiar motions, her rosette-shaped device generating a miniature green knife-laser for the purpose. Samara giggled, neatening out her friend's hair in return for tussling it up before.

"Ren, did you get my notes on class?"

Renza nodded. "Mhm. I'm all caught up."

Odi smiled serenely, pulling out a sliver of fruit and feeding it to Samara, who leaned over to bite it out of her hand. "Well that's certainly reassuring. You should keep up with your classwork whilst you're in hospital after all."

She tilted her head to watch Renza with one eye. "Now... why don't you tell us what you were doing deep in the Economic District during _lunch break_."

Renza winced.

Samara nodded enthusiastically, hair bouncing everywhere, eyes pinning Renza to her bed as she made what she doubtlessly considered a stern expression. "Mmphm!" She ordered through a mouthful of orange. "Telffus! Tefffus!" Swallowed. "Tell us!"

"Eheh..." Renza began, arms raised in a placating gesture. "I was... heading to the Basilica..."

Odette sighed wearily; having expected something like that. "Renza..."

Samara huffed, crossing her arms. "You religious types!"

"W-What? It's a really pretty cathedral!"

Odette rubbed her temples. "Renza, the Basilica is _hours_ away..."

"I took a comune!"

Part of Valezorro's renowned public transport network. Still failed to explain _why_ by the Saint's measure she'd felt the need for it. Odette frowned.

"Even so, you'd only get a few minutes at most!"

Renza gripped her sheets, looking away. "I know that... I really wanted to see it, that time."

...Odette sighed. She had to give in, with that expression. "Sorry. I didn't realise it meant that much to you."

Samara melted immediately, patting her on the head. "Yeah, yeah, you never seemed much of a believer before."

Renza chuckled nervously, playing with her hair. "It's... kindof a recent thing?"

Odette smiled. "Tell us about it sometime." She set the peeled clementine on a plate by the bedside. "Come on, Samara."

"You're leaving?"

Her eyebrow quirked as Samara hopped off the bed. " _Some of us_ have school to get back to. Rest well, won't you?"

Renza nodded, and they waved goodbye as they left the room.

Out in the corridor, everything was white and clean, with well-placed plants to freshen the air and inject some greenery into the scene. Shoes clacked on the artificial floor tiles as they navigated the maze of corridors and departments, following the correct colour road to the exit in companionable silence.

They exited A&E, and definitely Renza's earshot. Samara ran her hand through her hair.

"...That girl's a terrible liar."

Odette sighed. "You noticed too, huh?"

* * *

Valezorro from on high really was a beautiful city. White and blue buildings rose like ancient columns from the tended waterways, circled by sleek white barca, skimming along the water surfaces or even flying if their pilot had a high enough Mage Rank. Birds flocked and swung in the early breeze. Every once in a while, a flying figure could be spotted; in deference to its unique transportation requirements, the usual restrictions on flying mages in TSAB-aligned cities were waived within Valezorro's limits. Bathed in the morning sun that hung dull, heavy and red on the skyline, it looked as if the whole world were made of clay, shining in reds, oranges and gold.

Nestled amongst the towers of the Governance District, Renza Veneti, in full Puella costume, hair flapping out ahead of her, sat atop a white communications spire, the small maintenance platform serving as an impromptu seat. Deep down below, the city swirled and breathed beneath, out and beyond, from the centre of Governance all the way out to the Residential fringe.

Out from Governance's modern towerblocks of reflective glass and white steel, the Industrial District sprawled away in a maze of colossal iron pipes and smokestacks half-hidden in smog, connected by hedgerows of girders and walkways. Economic hung nearby, built like Governance but with more flair, corporate logos and colours proudly on display, bright and gaudy even from Renza's lofty viewpoint. Judiciary and Commercial were still in the old style; white Valezian stone and mortar, built lower and squatter than their modern cohorts, but with far more grace, a grand collaboration of towers, arches and domes that reeked of age and pride. Some large shape dropped down over her head, the spire shivering in its wake; a transorbital coming down to land at the spaceport behind her; probably to ferry off Industrial's wares. It didn't hold her attention.

Random buildings stood out from the sprawl; landmarks she knew. Close by, the towers and spires of the Basilica Vaillieu, home of the Saint's Faith, dedicated to the Sankt Kaiser Olivie, standing tall and proud as it had every right to. The Policlinico Serenità, which she was getting depressingly familiar with, sat a little further away; a large, round, domed structure twice the size of a stadium, built in the old Valezian stone, wearing the age of the institution as a badge of pride, though its inside were completely modern technologically. The Basso Trari upper secondary school, yet another 'old style' building, rose up on her opposite side in a large, ornate triangle surrounded by its own leafy non-native gardens.

And of course, what she was looking for, far, far away, far at the very edge of the city where the shining whites turned to drabber greys just before they met the glimmering sea, out in the far distant slum-docks of the Residential districts...

...Well, it wasn't actually visible from here. But somewhere down there was home.

The distance felt appropriate.

"...Was it right," she asked the air, hugging her knees close, "saying all that?"

" _I can offer no judgements. But secrecy is definitely the best course of action."_

The voice was from nowhere, but she knew the Kyubey was sitting by her side.

"It's tiring, having to lie all the time." She said, picking at the wire meshing subconsciously. "If I'm doing good, why can't I tell people?"

The Kyubey made a little telepathic sigh, one of its odder habits. _"We Incubators have experimented with it in the past. It has never ended well for anyone involved. If you wish, the memories of those involved can be altered. They would not ask any further questions."_

Renza blinked. "Why would you...?"

" _The Ispettore you met before have too much information; it's extremely likely they will cause trouble if their investigation proceeds. I called in a telepath to clean up the situation; erasing the memories of your companions at the same would not be difficult."_

"N-No!" She shouted, breaking out of her knee-hug. The very idea of having someone poke around in her father's...

" _No!_ I can't do that to them!"

The Kyubey failed to react. Looking down, she found it was indifferently grooming its ear flaps. _"You wouldn't be. She'll be arriving in one week. Please make your decision before then."_

"I-I've already made it! It's done! _Finito!"_

The creature did not shrug, releasing its ear to gaze back upon the sea, nothing but a static smile on its face. _"It doesn't really affect me. The opportunity will always be there until she leaves, in any case."_

Renza shuddered.

"...What about the daemons? Were there any more whilst I was out?"

" _None that I was aware of. I stored the grief cubes from the battle in a secure location. We can collect them at your convenience."_

Renza nodded. "Let's do that now then." Her soul gem wasn't exactly going to get any lighter waiting.

Without it needing to be said, the Incubator scampered up to perch neatly on her shoulder, tiny paws gripping tightly in preparation for-

She stepped forward and dropped, and Valezorro rushed up to meet them.

* * *

The Incubator lead her on a winding path, taking advantage of her mobility as a Puella Magi to weave a confusing trail through the bars and girders of the Industrial district. The air was thicker here, building a rusty-red haze from the morning sun, burning more exotic colours the closer they got to the smokestacks that stabbed up like trees in a forest through the metal undergrowth, the entire place vibrant and humming with indeterminable activity.

Renza followed the Incubator's guidance, moving blindly through the maze as it instructed, speech-telepathy temporarily abandoned in favour of simply transferring directions visually. She leapt and ran from walkway to walkway to pipe to pipe until they came upon a rusted, abandoned warehouse suspended high above the lashing waves, known only by their sound as they crashed against the supports far below.

The thickness of the air deadened any sounds they made. Even the waves sounded empty and hollow up here.

Lost and forgotten, the harsh, acidic atmosphere of the Industrial District had been far from kind. The moulding flakboard that had once made up the warehouse's roof served to give away its age; newer post-TSAB building regulations would never allow it; even the pre-Alliance laws would probably have frowned on its use out here. Under the harsh red haze, the boards had softened and melted, dripping down slowly over the centuries to build a noxious, stinking carpet of filth that seeped into everything. Vague shapes of tortured industrial equipment and dilapidated storage crates stood out in the gloom. The whole thing felt like it was made of wet paper, hanging on a thread above the waves below.

They entered with no hesitation.

The Industrial District was... common, as a place for her patrols. With the haze, deadened noise and reduced visibility, it was a natural location for crime and suicides, and hence a vibrant breeding ground for daemons. A man could walk in, deactivate his Jacket and dive, and be dead long before the paramedics could arrive. Even civilian jackets could counter the corrosive air, but it was still a sticking point with the Time-Space Administration Bureau out in the wider Dimensional Sea. Governance was working on it now the greater ecological disasters had been resolved but... well, Caglica was only an Allied world for a reason. The Judiciary maintained a security cordon but they were laughably easy to get past, at least from Renza's perspective. All the sensors were on ground level.

In her 'Puella mode', as she thought of it, she had none of the features or protections of her civilian Jacket, but she didn't seem to need them. Immunity to asphyxiation, amongst other things, was yet another perk of the contract.

" _Through here."_

The Incubator directed her to a small side room, where a metal false ceiling, now severely rusted, had managed to protect the rest of the room from the stagnant mush. A small cubicle office, by the looks of it; mouldy paper and an almost completely disintegrated work chair sat at an ancient desk being the biggest giveaways. The Incubator directed her attention to one of the drawers, which pulled out freely, leaving her grateful that the desk, at least, seemed to be made of sterner stuff.

Within, nestled amongst degraded wire-bound files and acidified trash, eight black cubes sat, radiating a faint but palpable sense of grief. Blacker than seemed wholly natural, the cubes, currently inert, seemed to stand out against in the smoky gloom even as Renza thought they should fit in. She scooped them up in both hands, trying to collect as little grit on her fingers as possible.

"Was this really the best place to keep them?" She asked Kyubey.

" _This location is too difficult to access, too distant from civilisation and too dilapidated to be of use to ordinary humans."_ It answered calmly. _"It's too far removed for the cubes to feed and regenerate. It's the safest place for them."_

She rather doubted that last point, but still, she could see its logic. If left alone, the grief cubes would, as per their title, draw in and amplify the ambient disorder and discontent of those around them, leading them to respawn the daemons they contained; obviously something that just served to make things worse. If left unchecked, the levels of grief could spiral and reach heights so high they formed a barrier and entirely new daemons would start to spawn, upon which things could get very rapidly out of hand.

It was her duty, as a Puella Magi, to prevent that.

Torn for a moment between leaving this horrible place and difficulty of doing so with a fistful of grief cubes, she eventually decided to just detransform, setting her gem upon the desk and laying the grief cubes around it, ignoring the dull return of residual pain in her thigh.

Coral blue, just like her hair and the rest of her outfit, the small egg-sized gem glowed as little trails of grief peeled away into the cubes, making the gem shine visibly brighter by the second. She watched, arms folded and favouring her good leg as the taint she incurred from the battle drained away, like a heavy weight lifting from her shoulders. Paradoxically, the air felt fresh again, and soon even her ruined surroundings couldn't keep her spirit down, despite the seriousness of the situation.

When her gem finished draining - shining a point of brilliant, glorious blue alone in the haze of red - she cradled it in her hands and transformed back again, the gem exploding into motes of light that re-condensed at the base of her neck. The throb in her leg faded entirely.

The cubes, hard to look at now and radiating a truly dangerous sense of malevolence, were not much a concern. The Kyubey had already jumped up on the desk and begun flicking the cubes one by one into an organic 'hatch' that appeared from the teardrop marking on its back, going at its task in a way that Renza really, really wanted to describe as 'merrily' even though she knew better. It had disturbed her the first time she'd seen it, but felt familiar now. Reassuring, even; now this way the cubes couldn't harm anyone.

For a second, Renza wondered by just what Kaiser the little Kyubey had managed to even get them up here, but she discarded the thought just as quickly. They were Incubators; some things were just better unasked.

"All done?" She asked, as it finished the last one off with a little 'kyip!'

It answered by darting back up onto her shoulder; Renza almost protested before realising it had left no prints in the dust. Sure enough, a quick check proved there were no marks from it scampering up her costume. Well wasn't that convenient.

" _Certainly. You gathered a profit from that engagement; good work."_

She nodded, smiling. She'd found, through experience, that if she took out as many as possible in her opening strike she could focus more magic on the remainders; the cubes harvested from her opening salvo making up for the deficit in dealing with the survivors. She was getting there, slowly.

"Then, lets head back."

" _As you wish."_

* * *

At the Evidence Table, things were rapidly turning sour.

"...This still makes no sense." Ispettore Domhnall muttered, sipping a caff that had long grown cold and bitter since he'd snatched it from the cafeteria several hours ago. At the opposite end, Freiderike slumped, tapping her temple with her black glove-Device, dredging her brain to try and find some fresh, new angle they hadn't looked at already.

Between them, a matte black box - Diarmuid - rested, projecting pictures and information across the desk. Normally, the Evidence Table itself would handle that but Diarmuid, being an Investigative Device, had better functionality. A cable linked the two, connecting it to the _Judicia_ _Polizern's_ databases, as well as providing additional power.

On display was a map and overlaid 3D model of their two 'crime scenes'; the Polincia Boulevard, which was where the Veneti girl claimed to have last been conscious, and the roof of the office block on which she'd been found. Camera stills and markers hovered above the relevant points along with building information windows and demarcation of security viewcones, all in all serving to build a complete picture of collected data, evidence and events, in turn theoretically serving to build a picture of...

Domhnall frowned.

A picture of _what_ , exactly? They'd been at it for three days, processing witness statements and waiting on lab analyses, but the whole thing remained stubbornly nonsensical; a jigsaw puzzle with half its pieces missing.

Those employed within the office building were proving increasingly a non-starter. Their contracts were all legitimate, their backgrounds checked out, and not a single person had seen Renza Veneti either carried up to the roof, or even before in their lives. When they'd found her, they called the emergency services, the Judiciary and the Medical Rescue Service swooped in, and the rest was pretty much history.

According to Veneti's own testimony, she had been attacked on the Boulevard, not on the roof. The evidence at least bore out the second part. It was a clear puncture wound caused by something extremely hot ramming cleanly through muscle and bone, yet the only bloodstains they'd found was the pool caused by the victim's leg bleeding out, not by it getting hit in the first place. A wound like that should leave some very explosive splatter marks. Conspicuously, both the roof and the Boulevard had neither.

It was possible, theoretically, that Veneti could have been incapacitated, injured elsewhere and then dumped on the roof, but that then rather begged the question of how her attacker had managed to _miss_. If they'd just intended to wound her - some local cartel or the Tosca trying to send a message - then... well, put bluntly, it was overkill. Especially when the girl lived in the slumdocks where the security grids were effectively non-existent, which seemed a far more intelligent place to stage this kind of thing.

Speaking of the cameras...

On the street-level feeds - private owned security loggers, which again had taken some time to get hold of - Veneti walked out of screen on one, never appeared on the other. That gave them a predictable area in which the crime took place (or started); the blind spot between the two security cameras, a small wedge-shaped area highlighted in blue on their map.

From the wound profile, they knew the girl had been hit from behind, from a low point of origin. They also knew roughly where she was standing and what direction she was headed when she want off camera; just walking down the centre of the Boulevard. A white dotted line plotted out the extrapolated path from where she left the first camera and should have reappeared on the next had she continued on her course. Only... for that to be true, whatever struck her should have appeared on both cameras; first as it came to strike her from behind, second as it continued straight through the other side as it had to have done with that kind of injury. That ruled out the attack taking place on the Boulevard.

Yet the only logical method by which Renza Veneti could reach a rooftop on Economic without ever appearing on cameras was the direct one: teleportation. Veneti herself was obviously ruled out from that (E-Rank), so that meant someone else would have to have taken her. A check with the Office of the Watch confirmed... no teleportation requests between those locations, no 'odd' signals and no attempts to bypass the interdiction network, which existed precisely to stop that kind of thing. And the idea of getting past _that_ without leaving any traces whatsoever...

...None of this made sense. Instinct said that had to a simpler solution; they had to be looking at the data wrong somewhere; but it couldn't identify the correct means to approaching this.

He sipped his caff. It didn't help any.

Freiderike looked up as an alert blinked on her glove-Device. "Ah, that information warrant came though."

"Oh?" ...Which one was that again? "Let's have it."

The Junior Ispettore rapped her knuckles gently on the top of Diarmuid's blank surface, a soft green glow on the glove's part the only indication of a data transfer.

Windows, images and scrolls of text popped up around them, the 3D simulcra of the Polincia Boulevard shrinking itself into a corner to stay out of the way. Ah, his memory jogged; the request on the Veneti family. Chief amongst them was the Department of Health and Records' file on the Veneti girl; Domhnall pulled that over first with a mental command.

He sighed, rubbing at his stubble, and looked at the ID photograph of Renza Veneti hanging in the air before him. Most of the file was nothing new; just an ordinary 14 year-old from the slumdocks, the only mildly interesting thing about her the blue hair that spoke of some distant Al-Hazerdian contaminants in her genetic history. She wasn't even a powerful mage, just an E-Ranker; a regular civilian who could support a basic Jacket and not much else. Student at the Basso Trari on the Saint's Charity; studied Belkan history and kept the Saint's Faith. Nothing stand-out or exceptional.

He skimmed through what they had quickly; after the bio it was mostly just school records and attendance - odd number of hospital visits these past three months he noted; might mean trouble - before it went on to family history-

He flinched. "Wait. Take a look at her parents."

Freiderike, disturbed by his reaction, pulled up her own display - he'd long ago granted her access rights with Diarmuid for convenience's sake - and skimmed it herself.

"Sole guardian Ciardo Veneti, biological father; C-Rank mage, Myedoan style; dock worker. full time, Pasodine Shipyards." The Belkan read aloud. "No surviving extended family, shoplifting charge when he was 13, no further criminal record. Small hut on the waterline..." she frowned, reading the address, "that's Tosca territory, isn't it."

Domhnall nodded.

"Think he missed a protection payment?"

"Keep reading."

"Mother died in childbirth... Jeanne Delgado?" She pulled back, trying to pull the thread of information at the back of her mind. _"Delgado."_ She tapped the table. "That name... where have I..."

"The Economic District." Domhnall supplied, watching Freiderike's eyes widen as the connection snapped into place.

" _That_ Delgado? The conglomerate from Castilla? With the villa?"

He nodded, bouncing mental commands to Diarmuid whilst switching and scrolling datascreens. "The same one. I just checked the family tree; Jeanne Delgado was the 16th in line as heir. Even Renza Veneti is listed, down in the hundreds, if only on Governance records."

"...Kaisers."

"Yeah."

Freiderike stared at the display in a whole new light. "...and they live in _Tosca_ territory. Saint's mercy..."

The Tosca. The Valezian Mob. Calling it a 'Mafia' implied too much class. Alongside the more mercenary _Cosa Nostra_ , they were the biggest thorn in the Judiciary's side; part of what the organisation had been formed to break up in the first place.

Valezorro had a... complicated cultural history. Founded by the _Valezi_ , the original settlers from Al-Hazard that had terraformed Caglica and built Valezorro upwards and outwards from its collection of island chains back in the ancient era, it had just been another island-city, like the neighbouring Castilla and Chaomin; Domhnall's own original port of origin. Throughout most of Caglican history it remained fairly isolated; just another link in the equatorial chain; developing its own culture and dialect like they all did, holding even throughout the Dawn States era that put the planet under Galean control, on the Belkan border.

And then the Warring States era happened. Caglica found itself swing back and forth like a pendulum; Belkan, Galean, Belkan again... and then some idiot detonated an ice cap.

Immigrants and refugees flooded everywhere. The Saint's Church practically had to form their own _de facto_ governments just to organise the relief effort; the early starting point for the now separate Calgican Governance. The TSAB arriving - something he still vaguely remembered, though he'd only been ten at the time - was like a gift from the Kaisers themselves. Once the Ocean Crisis was resolved, Caglica could finally make the effort to modernise, leading to cities like Valezorro becoming even more multicultural with the rise of global transportation. And all that within a very condensed period of time, leaving some people with extremely ruffled feathers.

Increasingly, elements of the unemployed and working classes had begun to form groups. Accusing all non-Valezi of stealing jobs and destroying their culture, the Tosca took to its self-appointed task of keeping Valezorro 'clean' with batons, protection rackets and nail bombs, and with a disturbing amount of support amongst the slum-docks and the unemployed.

And if this girl was a bastard from a powerful Castillan clan...

"...We have a racial motivation." Freiderike concluded, having followed the same trail of logic. "Fuck."

Domhnall nodded. That had been pretty much his reaction. Not killing her made a little more sense in that light, at least... they'd been focusing on the method, not the motive. The truth would follow, now they knew where they were looking.

"You think they're sending a message to the Delgado?" Freiderike asked.

When where the Tosca _not?_ "It seems the most likely option. I'll contact the Director; it looks like we'll need to flush out some rats..."

* * *

Ciardo Veneti drank. He drank so as to not think, to not worry about his injured daughter, so small in her hospital bed, his precious last piece of _her_ , to not think of the medical bills that would rise even with the blessing of the Saint's Charity, to not think of his paycheck and how thin it would have to spread.

He drank to not think about the man opposite him.

"And the _Judi_ seem to think we're responsible; white-washed traitors." The man spat, greasy blue hair wild and rough. "You've paid your protection money, good and loyal. Those Delgado bastards are probably trying to sweep up their trash, _quei figli di puttana_."

Ciardo choked. "Don't..."

" _Si, si_." The man waved him off. Every motion of his felt like a pulled spring; tense with anger, passion and a bitter, blinded rage that was held at bay, just for the moment. "Your daughter's no trash; is good girl. Probably good mother too. Those _Castilli_ bastards won't care. Don't want a _Valezi_ dirtying up their precious pictures, no? Probably sent the _Judi_ up on us, miserable fucks."

Ciardo didn't think. Just nodded.

"You've always been right by us, Ciar." The man patted him on the shoulder. "You've always been loyal. We take care of our own."

The man pulled him close, made him see the fire and vengeance in his eyes and Ciardo desperately, desperately did not think. "We'll look after your daughter, _camerata_."

"The _Tosca_ swears on that."


	3. Roche

The gentle morning breeze wafted lazily through the bola'swindows, carrying with it the salty tint of the sea and the crisp frizzle of grilled fish from the neighbouring huts _._ Renza shifted lazily on her pile of blankets; the smell breaking her out of her dream state; her Jacket in a simple nightwear configuration to keep her warm. Then the Device on her wrist began to ping, and all hopes of sleep blew out with the morning breeze. She drifted awake, bleary eyes opening to processing the scene.

Hung opposite, her father snored in the colossal hammock hanging end to end. Made of an old ship's sail, she'd been told. Expensive stuff. One trunk-like arm dangled out to drag dust-trails on the hard stone floor. Even across the room, the man smelt cheaply of alcohol; his Jacket was still in its work configuration.

He never went out drinking like that, except when he was worried.

Renza sat up, already weary. The Kyubey's words still rattled inside her head.

" _She'll be arriving in one week. Please make your decision before then."_

He was worried about her, she knew. Editing his memories would certainly ease his pain. But she couldn't change being a Puella Magi; injuries had to be accepted as a fact of life. And with her wish...

Well, this was the best things could be.

Shaking her head to clear the traitorous thoughts and the last of the morning cobwebs, she rose. In an older time, she would have had to stagger, bleary eyed, to make her way to the communal shower, probably knocking her father awake in the process, but that was then.

This was now.

Silently and carefully, she padded barefoot under the massive hammock (her Jacket's fields protected her feet and softened the noise), mindful of the old man's need to sleep after a night like that. She took quick stock of the floor, spotted her bookbag, and managed to drag it out, completely silent, beneath the softly swaying hammock, manoeuvring it carefully past his dragging arm and into the light.

Puella perks, she supposed. They made mornings actually habitable. Setting it at the open doorway so she could find it later, she took quick inventory of the rest of the bola.

Windows; literally just holes in the wall, were set in each of the four walls, with the ocean to the door and the spires of Governance to the rear. The bola made for a haphazard, shamble of a mess in terms of organisation; her father's gigantic hammock took up most of the space, though he would take it down for washing once he awoke. Surrounding that in their one room of a house were all the things one needed for living; at the moment though Renza's main interest lay in the 'larder'; frozen racks of plain, greasy, paper-wrapped slabs; long and thin, tapering at both ends.

Fish, in other words.

She pulled out one of the smaller ones, defrosted it with the aid of her Device, and pulled a pair of knives down from their hooks on the wall. Filletting it expertly, she threw the skins, head and bone into the cold shill, intending to boil them for stock later. The knives went into the sink.

Outside was bright and orange, and the wafting smell of morning risers with similar plans met her immediately. The grill pad was out in the open, under a tarp shelter in the wall for the rainy days. Her Device plugged into the side, her linker core took a sudden _tug_ and up it went, orange and steaming. The fillets slapped down with a sizzle. A scattering of common herbs finished things off; they only took a few minutes.

Once they were nice and steaming, she unplugged her Device and wrapped it back around her wrist. It was a simple, Governance-issued civilian thing, built mostly for children with 'survive the school of hard knocks' in mind. Kabupatenic, apparently, for all your chosen style of magic really mattered when you were an E-Rank, but their style of Devices had a reputation for being extremely hardy and difficult to damage, so she couldn't complain. With her father a Myedoan C-Rank, they could get away with having almost all the tools in the bola mana-operated.

Which was good, because mana was _free_.

She couldn't do or run everything in the bola herself; she just didn't have the reserves; but her father could, and in fact did; handling most of the tools whilst Renza saved her limited linker pool for when she needed it. It worked out fairly well, all told, and certainly saved them an awful lot of money they had no hope to spare. Nobody provided electricity out here; too expensive with all the safety requirements the water required. Flipping the fish with a pair of twisted sticks, she looked around to see who else was out this morning.

Their bola was literally on the coastline, for as long as it took for it to expand again. A white-grey dried mud patty covering over a combination of scaffolding, provided by the Saint Church, and as many long sticks and supports the original builders could find, built square and squat, surrounded by a walkway of the same construction and kept above the water on high, high stilts. She hadn't been alive to see it constructed. Somewhere underneath their boat - a small, ancient watercutter - hung suspended on ropes. Hollow steps in the wall of bola, gouged out of the mud-plaster and well worn with use, lead up to the flat, open roof, which had a tent cover they could put up for rainy days, effectively turning it into a second storey.

Out and about in their fellow bola (connected in an open maze of planks and walkways; no two were ever quite on the same level; all the slum-docks were a confused, colourful maze), the neighbourhood was waking up, greeting the morning, some taking the Saint's Prayer, others cooking, like her. The smell of grilling fish and the rising rancour of far-too-energetic children filled the air. She waved to their nearest neighbours, the twin sticks held in her mouth whilst she gathered plates from their storage crate.

A low, brassy groan came from the back of the bola, and a pair of heavy footfalls faintly shook the grill pad on its stilts. Her father was up. Good timing.

" _Buenavassi, ma padre."_

She held out a plate of grilled fish. Her father stood blearily, stooped in the doorway, before finally cracking into a soft smile.

" _Buenavessera, mia belle."_

The man sat down with a creak of the ancient flakboarding, taking the plate and one of the twisted sticks when offered. He inhaled the sea air and aromas with a deep, rumbling breath, looking out across the sea. Renza was already picking through hers; scooping fish up in the twists with deft movements.

For a few moments, they just ate, watching the birds. There were ships, of course (it was Valezorro; there were always ships), but the birds were more relaxing.

"Will you be safe on your way to school, _belle?_ " He asked, voice rumbling and quiet.

" _Si, padre."_ She said, focusing on her plate.

"I don't want you travelling alone for a while, understand?"

"It's alright; I'll be meeting Sam at the showers."

"Le Bien? Nn. Look out for yourself."

" _Si;_ don't worry, _padre."_

"I'll always worry."

She patted his giant arm.

"I'll be alright, _padre_. I'm healing up fine."

Her father turned, horrified. " _Mia belle_ , you were _attacked_..."

Renza grimaced. "You don't know that! The Ispettore are investigating it-"

"Renza..." the man breathed, hoarse. "Take this seriously! It's your _life_. Don't go risking it!"

She swallowed. Setting down her empty plate, she stood and enveloped his trunk of a neck in as tight a hug as she could manage.

It was only when he sat down she could even reach his head.

"I _am, padre_. It's okay. It was just an accident, and I'm fine! You're worrying yourself too much!"

The man rumbled, but relented in her arms, the sagging release actually lowering his shoulders a few centimeteres. She ran fingers through his tangled, coare flint hair, pushing her head into his craggy, wheatherbeaten shoulder.

"It'll be okay, _padre_. Trust me."

* * *

The 'showers' were less a communal shower, more a water purifier connected directly to the oceans sloshing below with a bunch of taps and piping bolted on, hidden behind masses of plasterwork and tiles. The Caglican Governance had always invested greatly in its water treatment services; with the aid of the Saint Church, they were readily available as a public good. Each cubicle essentially just a spout mounted high in the wall, set in a private alcove covered with a thick weaved curtain for privacy. Too high for her to actually reach, but the systems were mana activated anyway. Useless if you were one of the few unlucky ones with no mage rank at all, but cheaper, and even an E-Rank like her could use it. And faith, people could always ask; it wasn't like they were ever empty.

Though Jackets served as highly responsive day-to-day wear, it was still recommended people have something physical on underneath, should the worst happen. It wouldn't show through whatever you set the Jacket to, so general consensus was either something practical and warm or something that would stand out in an emergency - or of course both. It wasn't mandatory, just very, very strongly encouraged. They could save your life, so the pamphlets said.

More cynically, she knew, they helped EMTs identify the dead and critically injured at a scene.

In Renza's case it was a pair of Governance-issued, Saint's Church produced survival trousers and a thick, heavy overcoat, both bright orange and baggy in that 'one size fits most people' way, with reflective bands strategically placed so that most of them would be catching the light at any one time. It looked completely hideous and stuck out like a sore thumb, but then that was the point. After deactivating her Jacket, she had to fight her way out of that too so she could actually shower.

She stepped out again five minutes later running a rag through her hair, Jacket back on in its uniform setting. The rich, regal designs of the Basso Trari upper secondary school uniform - a dark, olive-green blazer and skirt combination - looked horrifically out of place amongst the drab whites and dusty curtains of the public bath.

Another person wearing the same uniform jumped out from the stall behind.

"Morning, Ren!"

She turned, smiling already.

" _Buenavassi,_ Sam!"

Samara Le Bien grinned, water-slick hair slapping about her face as she took her by the hand.

"Shall we?"

Renza collected her book-bag. "Mhm!"

* * *

A local comune bus ferried them to the Basso Trari's gates, skiffing around between the bola until it had collected most of the other local girls whose parents could gather the coin for their tuition. Too long to travel just by watercutter and _no-one_ owned a barca; comunes like this were funded by the Saint's Church. As was, for that matter, their positions in the Basso Trari itself; part of their fees and supply costs waived on the Saint's Charity in recognition of educational merit; a scholarship, in other words.

Somewhat inevitably, her group was nicknamed the Saint's Children. Opinions varied.

But Renza didn't mind. There was a reason she'd held off her prayer in the morning; they held them here in the Trari instead. Even Samara, who didn't see the point of it all, was still grateful to the Church.

The comune dropped them all off at the Water Gate in the gardens, a few fellow students and staff already waiting. She spotted Odette waiting at the side looking prim and proper... who actually did a double take when she realised it was them under all the drenched hair.

"W-What happened to you two, did you fall over the side?" She asked, fussing at Samara's blazer after helping pull them up onto the dock.

"Yes!" Said Samara immediately, before Renza could stomp her foot.

Odette sighed wearily. "Well... try not to next time; I'll dry you off before _la Sorelle_ find you."

A glowing green triangle formed around the Belkan's hand as she prepared to cast a minor spell, only to be interrupted when Renza raised a hand.

"We didn't actually fall off."

Odette hung her head. "...I'd guessed that. Hold still anyway. _**Sengenden Winde.**_ "

Renza obliged, and was met with a warm rush of air blasting across her face, the triangular spell-cast spinning into a circular green-glowing blur. Any remaining water blew away or dissipated, the facial barriers of her Jacket protecting her skin from any potential burns. Odette wasn't putting any power into it anyway.

A low powered combat spell thrown out casually as a hair-dryer. Such were the convenience of C-Rank mage-knight cadets.

The rest of the crowd weren't paying them much attention. Though the comune had a deployable ramp for such purposes already extended (and, in addition, multiple signs stressing the _usage_ of said ramp even the driver was ignoring), somewhere along the lines it had just become tradition to pull up the new arrivals when they reached the Gates.

Probably symbolic, or something.

In either case, the gathering was filled with greetings, consternations, 'how do you do's, friends pulling up friends, the usual hair readjustments necessitated after an open-topped comune ride, the supervising Sorella making sure no-one was swapping their homework, the desperate trying to get away with it anyway...

A usual start for a usual day.

The blast of air cut off and Odette lowered her hand, the spell-cast fading away. The back of her head still felt faintly damp, but Renza was hardly about to complain.

"All done!" Odette said smiling. "Shall we?"

Samara stepped in, head still vaguely resembling a wet mop. "Wait, what about me?"

Odette huffed. _"You_ can go swim the canals you lying girl!"

"Eeeeh?!"

Renza giggled. "Let's go!"

" _Eeeeh?!_ "

* * *

The morning service was as usual; the High Sister making typically ordinary faculty announcements before diverging onto social and religious topics. The central lecture theatre was tall and airy, a bright, well lit dome with shafts of sunlight playing in through the high windows. It was actually a little confusing, once you started paying attention to it; for some season, they only ever illuminated the centre stage. Renza, who'd been up there once on Puella business, knew the secret, but wasn't completely sure how she'd ever get away with telling it given there was no ground access. It wasn't _quite_ as simple as holographics...

And yes, that meant the ceiling of the dome could only be cleaned by fliers. Back when the building was constructed, it was an intentional sign of prestige... and now, punishment for misbehaving air cadets. Of which there were five; the teachers doling out extra punishments for them just to keep the thing tidy had become something of a running joke.

Sitting in-between Odette and a freshly scolded (and dried; Odi had relented after a few minutes) Samara, she and the rest of the girls of the Basso Trari's current 9th Year classes sat at attention on the third level of seats ringing the central podium. Not alone; the entire stadium was filled, with the younger classes at the bottom and the elder rising higher.

"...And I hope," spoke the High Sister, closing off her lecture on one of the older Streben-Kaisers, "that all of you will go through with your day with the Mercy of Vollständigkeit in your hearts, and pay due respect in All Things."

The auditorium stood, and bowed, the room echoing with the clamour and thousands of voices reciting in tandem. " _Within one world we are born as stardust, and though worth and improvement, we join Vollständigkeit to be born again as stars._ "

A little too far away for it to be visible, the High Sister smiled. "Then get to your lessons, all of you. And have a good day."

They managed to find each other after the shuffle and chaos of filtering out into the side corridors, and made their way to First Session, Samara dancing ahead with unpredictable movements whilst Renza and Odette maintained a steady, refined pace.

"Maan, I'm glad that's over!" Sam exclaimed. "There's so many of those bloodstained oldie farts; how are we supposed to keep track of them all?!"

"When anyone asks," Odette advised saintly, "smile and nod."

"Easy for you to say Miss Belkan Heritage; I can barely pronounce half their names!"

"The Streben are important!" Renza held up a placating hand, trying to stave off a full-blown Samara rant where the Sorella might hear her. "They symbolise a lot of things."

"Oh?" She huffed. "What was this one then?"

Renza replied without missing a beat. "Saxa I, Streben-Kaiser of Explorers. She lead the first Great Expansion of Ancient Belka in 084 P.A. She's commonly associated with exploration and discovery and ships' navigators, particularly on the border worlds."

Samara froze, boggling. "...How do you do that. Seriously."

"She pays attention, Sam." Odette giggled.

Renza shrugged. "The High Sister does a piece on her every year; Saxa's pretty popular amongst educators."

Samara's expression turned suddenly predatory. "Oh _yaaah?_ What's this, little Ren has been hitting the books, has she?"

"Eh-?" Renza asked, missing a step.

"Look at you, racing on ahead without me!" Samara pounced, the walk to class abandoned in favour of attacking her smaller classmate's head. "But I'm not going to let you go that easy!"

"-Uwah!"

With dignity and grace, Odette rubbed her temples and quietly looked out the window. My, she hadn't noticed how nice the weather was today...

"S-Sam, stop it-"

"All that refined language, it's like you're trying to be a princess~!"

Was that a bird?

"S-Samara!"

"Hahaha! But little do you realise, you have no-one to impress but me! For you see, Ren is going to be my wiiii-"

"What a surprise! Two of the Saint's Children, acting like kids and forgetting their manners." A voice cut through, laden with scorn, arrogance and a distinct lack of actual surprise. Odette suppressed a groan. Oh joy, she knew who _that_ had to be-

"Hey!" Samara accused, as Renza fell silent. "What's that supposed to mean?!"

Penne Lovelace sniffed dismissively, her golden curls bouncing with the movement, not even giving them any further attention. Instead, she had turned to Odette.

"Miss Camarr," she began imperiously, "as I have told you before, you should not associate with such common lunacy. I cannot begin to imagine what your parents must think."

"As I can believe," Odette replied, giving a stoic Belkan half-bow, "considering I have their full support."

Also known as 'Fuck You', for the lucky ones that didn't have to speak Rich. Technically true too; her family had met Samara and Renza in person before. Not for very long and Renza did all the talking but still. The twitch in Lovelace's eye was entirely worth it.

The haughty girl huffed, to no-one's surprise, flicking her hair and sweeping on past, clearly finding nothing here worth sparing her attentions upon. Odette watched her leave mostly to avoid looking at the face Samara was pulling. Laughing at a Lovelace's back was a bad idea.

"Um..." Renza began, breaking the silence. "We should probably get to class..."

There was a brief bit of mostly ladylike cursing as the other two checked their chronometers, and began rushing down the hallway.

In an entirely elegant fashion.

* * *

As was tradition amongst all schoolchildren when one of them returned from hospital, Renza got swamped immediately on her arrival; fellow schoolgirls crowding around her desk despite Samara and Odette's half-hearted attempt at a protective cordon.

"Say say, Veneti, are you really okay?"

"I'm fine!" Renza replied, trying to follow several conversations at once. "It was just an accident-"

Another girl, tall and richer with ambiguously Caglican features looked naïvely horrified. "Y-You mean you weren't attacked by gangs?"

"I- what? No-"

Yet another leaned in over her desk. "Yeah, what even happened anyway; these two won't tell us anything!"

(Odette rolled her eyes.)

"It was an accident! Some people found me so-"

A hand slammed down, two solid rings rattling on the desk surface, leading to an arm, leading to a tall, wiry frame and a face, Castillan, framed with slate hair cut pragmatically short. Renza blinked. The face she knew but the name kept stubbornly out of reach; hiding on the tip of her tongue.

"Ah-"...

Amber eyes watched her with a mix of suspicion, wariness and an odd degree of scorn. The girl leaned forward. Finally, something clicked; Natalie Pincette, another of the Saint's Children. But she lived on the other side of town closer to Castilla what was she-

"Are you sure it's wise, coming all the way out here?" The girl asked softly, commanding silence from the rest of the group.

Renza stared at her in genuine confusion.

"I... what do you mean?"

Natalie held her gaze for a few moments, clearly searching for something in her face. It didn't last long though before she gave an almost inaudible huff and stalked off... just in time, as it turned out, for the Sorella to arrive and start the Session. Renza blinked as the taller girl left, the crowd forced to disperse before anyone else could ask questions.

What had _that_ been about?

She shook her head and tried to concentrate, pulling out her textbook and setting it to the appropriate page.

* * *

The First Session passed as normal - Galean Literature; at the moment the works of Venier the Great. Renza didn't really have time to dwell on the oddities of the morning; Venier at least was genuinely interesting, and his works fun to pick apart even if you'd read them before. By the Second however, her attention began to lag. Advanced Matrices was never her strong suit. E-Rank.

It just didn't come naturally, and she found the concepts hard to grip on, as other things began to swirl from her subconscious.

As the Sorella covered the basics of perspective and isometric projection, Renza set down her stylus, eyes unfocused on the textbook in front of her.

" _This is your life! Don't go risking it!"_

...Things were getting out of hand, weren't they? Daemons. The Puella. Her wish...

It was like trying to balance on an infinite array of tipping boards; like building a house of cards on a rocking boat. If she fought, she would put herself at risk and worry her father; if she did not, all of Valezorro could be in danger. Yet she didn't want to hurt him; _couldn't_ hurt him, if any of this was going to be worth anything. If she focused on her studies, she could exhaust herself and people could die because she wasn't there to save them; if she did not, she could lose her place at the Trari and how could she ever explain _that_?

She'd been holding it back but... it was just getting too big to ignore.

Her life as a Puella and her life as a human being; both were increasingly at odds. How was she supposed to handle all this alone? Her life after this? Exams, getting a job? The future?

And... well, she could die, couldn't she? She'd almost died. That couldn't be ignored, not even before this incident, no matter how hard she tried. She could die and her father would _break_ and...

Her head swam, as the classroom faded away. She managed to catch herself before her head hit her own desk.

Sitting alone in the middle of a class, Renza kept still as the world slipped back into focus. The Sorella, discussing homogenous space. The textbook, displaying the wrong page. Odette, giving her an odd look. Everything felt real; everything felt _here and now_.

Everything here was immediate; she had to concentrate on it.

She picked up her stylus and flicked to the right page. She was a schoolgirl right now; that's how she should behave.

...She needed talk to Roche. Roche always helped.

* * *

They'd sat their barca on the roof of an office block, the Judiciary vehicle temporarily displaying civilian markings. Valezorro didn't have many spaces for air-landings, given the low percentage of drivers that could take advantage of them, but Governance still encouraged their use anyway; it freed up surface-level spots for the lower rankers, and the requirements to make a barca fly in the first place were expected to drop as the technology improved. Neither of them were actually at the point for complete flight, but Freiderike had enough power for it in small bursts. That the Judiciary got the latest in barca technology was always a plus.

Domhnall sighed, scanning faces in the crowds with a weary sense of lethargy.

"So what did Director Pascal say?" Freiderike asked from the driver's seat.

He shrugged. "Observe and wait, basically."

Freiderike, for her part, was lazing on the steering wheel. The person they were observing had gone inside and wasn't expected out for at least a few hours; not particularly inspiring attentiveness in the two Ispettore more used to fieldwork than subject tailing. And, to be frank, upper secondary schools just weren't that interesting.

"That's it?"

"He wants to keep things off the records until we know what's going on. Information security."

Since anyone else tailing the schoolgirl in question would almost certainly be under cover somewhere unless they were a complete idiot, their observation was essentially a waiting game. Wait for Renza Veneti to exit the nest, and see what predators followed her.

Their office block was at the apex of the point formed by the Trari's two landlocked faces. From here, they could watch both Land Gates simultaneously. Best possible position. Still boring. The third and final Gate, on the other side of the building, was the Water Gate by which they highly doubted anyone would be leaving, but he had Diarmuid managing a small flock of drones over there anyway. The Trari actually rose up higher than the stubby office block they were sat on, blocking most of Valezorro from view and leaving them with an exciting display of stone, stone and more stone. All the gardens where on the opposite Water face for irrigation purposes.

"Almost lunch break, isn't it?" Freiderike asked the air.

Domhnall grunted. "Diarmuid?"

[ **Cúig nóiméad agus daichead is seacht soicind, mo Rí** ]

"Five minutes." He translated unecessarily.

Freiderike sighed. "Think she'll make an appearance?"

"No. The Trari has its own canteen. Given what's happened I'd doubt she'd want to spend her lunch breaks in the city any more."

That had been an odd thing to find out from the staff. As of three months ago, she'd started leaving the premises on most breaks. It wasn't against the rules as long as you weren't late back, but it was still generally frowned on to do it to excess with no good reason, which Miss Veneti seemed to lack.

The more they'd looked, the more 'three months ago' seemed to be cropping up a lot around the Veneti girl. Diarmuid had flagged it almost immediately, of course, but a simple reading of the data in person was enough to make it stand out. As much as he didn't particularly feel need the need to pry into her circumstances, it was just one of those things too obvious for an investigator to miss.

It also felt a little too familiar, but he tried not to dwell on that.

And, well, all the points were just too disparate to really mean anything. There was clear evidence something happened back then, but what it was or what it meant was beyond him. It didn't fit any of the usual profiles for child behaviour - or at least, the kind of behaviour the Judiciary had to pay attention to - so he didn't really know what to make of it. Mercy, maybe she just got a boyfriend; probably a smart one given the jump in her grades. The increased incidence in hospital visits was worrying though; all injuries, never sick. Even her drunkard of a father had noticed that. Almost worth pinging a message to the Church over, but not quite yet. If it _was_ the Tosca, the Churchwouldn't be able to do much anyway; _that_ legal right had been transferred over to the Judiciary.

Lost in his musings, he almost missed it when Diarmuid emitted a tinny little beep. The accompanying telepathic kick was hard enough though.

Freiderike stared.

[ **Feicim Iníon Veneti, mo Rí.** ]

Over the South Gate, Diarmuid projected a small mental triangle, zooming in to generate its own window, better displaying the features of one Renza Veneti walking out onto the boulevard without a care in the world.

Domhnall stared. "...What."

The moment crashed between them; the sheer _impossible stupidity_ of seeing Renza Veneti leaving the safety of the Basso Trari and walking away like a regular, ordinary pedestrian and not a young bastard heiress being shot at by the mob. She wasn't even watching the streets; she was looking straight ahead, that sort of dream-ish autopilot look, like she had far greater, far more important concerns than being a _Castillan bastard hunted by the mob._

Freiderike releasing the land brake kicked things quickly back into gear.

"Drop me off in that alley and I'll tail on foot." He ordered quickly. "Follow her by air and try to get an idea where she's going; use the drones as you need. Diarmuid? Follow her orders. Ping the Order of the Watch for a tapping request on Veneti's Device."

He detached the bulky black box from his forearm and passed it over; Freiderike snapping it to her glove-Device with a familiar _clunk._

[ **Sea, mo Rí.** ] Diarmuid said, after the transfer.

Their barca hummed to life with a squealing whir; Freiderike dumping mana into the anti-grav pods to make the car rise and float sideways off the roof; dropping down into the side alley in a carefully controlled descent. Domhnall dropped out of the side as soon as they were low enough, and the barca 'whummed', releasing a faintly audible burst of mana as its pilot kicked the anti-grav into pushing it back up to the sky. He didn't watch it go; Freiderike knew what she was doing.

Switching his Jacket over to something inconspicuous, he hustled out of the alleyway onto the boulevard, hoping for a glimpse of blue hair somewhere up ahead.

* * *

" _Going hunting again, Renza?"_

She didn't bother shaking her head, just sent a 'no' back in response. She had no idea where the little Incubator was after all.

" _I'm visiting a friend."_

The response was a non-judgemental telepathic 'hmm'. She wasn't quite sure how that worked.

" _Why, are there more Daemons around?"_

" _I haven't seen any."_

She spotted the shadow of a creature on the rooftop of an opposite building, staring down at- oh wait no that was an actual cat. Running off chasing birds. This time she really did shake her head.

" _Where are you anyway?"_

" _Trailing the Ispettore."_

She blinked, weaving past a man pushing a pram. _"Oh, how's that going?"_

" _Problematic. They have split up; one is in their barca, the other is following you on foot."_

She tripped.

" _Wait, they WHAT?!"_

" _They have split up; one is-"_

" _Why didn't you tell me sooner!?"_

She could almost imagine it tilting its head in fake curiosity. _"About what?"_

" _That I'm being followed of course!"_

" _You never asked-"_

Now she wished she knew where it was just so she could _strangle the damn thing._

* * *

Sitting in the back seat of a barca jumping from rooftop to rooftop in short, controlled bursts whilst failing to parse the stream of furious multilingual telepathic cursing passing through its head, the Incubator reflected on how it didn't really understand humans.

* * *

Passing a father pushing his pram, Domhnall played the innocent Chaoim tourist gawking at all the Valezian architecture whilst watching Renza Veneti stumble for a moment. Leg injuries were always a pain.

Of more interest was the pair of stocky men, their Jackets passing them off as delivery workers, who were also walking this road. Compared to Veneti's half-distracted wandering (must have been a telepathic conversation; he really wished those tapping requests went through faster), these two moved with a purposeful but even gait, matching hers perfectly. Freiderike had flagged them from the air and Diarmuid had confirmed they were originally sitting in a café until the very moment Veneti appeared.

Sweet Kaisers, they were amateurs. Blue hair screamed 'Valezi' too; he barely needed Diarmuid's background reference check to tell they were Tosca.

_Veneti you really are a complete, inattentive idiot..._

" _Domhn_ ," Freiderike came through on mage telepathy, " _the tapping request came through. We've identified the tails as well; one of them is wanted for questioning regarding a robbery case._ "

" _Perfect_ ," he sent back, " _tie them up._ "

" _My pleasure._ "

* * *

Barcas landing in the middle of a pedestrian zone were not a common sight. Well, barcas landing in the first place generally wasn't common, given the low ratio of flight-capable barcas to sufficiently powerful mages. Even so, it happened enough on cheap crime dramas for everyone to tell it was a Judiciary intervention before Freiderike had even displayed the colours. A barca landing in front of you had just become social code for _'Hi, the Judiciary would like a word'_. Especially when they seated four.

That the two deliverymen looked more confused at this than anything else was a curious sign. Interesting; this might actually go peacefully for once.

She kept her glove-Devices on anyway.

"Excuse me, would one of you be Markis DeLamont?"

The obvious answer was 'yes', or they wouldn't have been pulled over, but hey. Politeness.

The man on the right raised his hand, looking a little bewildered. Freiderike took pity and offered an easy grin.

"We just need to ask you a few questions about a robbery in your area, if you'd be so kind?"

* * *

Renza watched with the rest of the crowd. Barcas landing in a pedestrian zone always disturbed her; not for the Judiciary thing but that creeping possibility they might one day land _on_ someone.

Sure, it hadn't happened yet, but they'd only started being able to fly in _her_ lifetime and that... wasn't saying a lot. No-one had ever quite expected it. Or, for that matter, fully figured out what to do with it.

" _Kyubey, what's going on?"_

" _I can't say. It appears to be political or otherwise related to law enforcement."_

...Well, fair enough, she couldn't make sense of it either. The poor Incubator probably didn't stand a chance. Was this how the Judiciary normally operated...?

" _...Do you think they want to ask me questions off the record?"_

" _I wouldn't know."_

She watched the barca, now flying the Judicial colours, lift off and start hopping back in the direction of the Judicial District. Part of her wondered how popular the vehicles would be if the ancient Valezians had been fond of slanted roofs.

" _...I guess it was just coincidence then."_

Renza put the event out of her mind, and headed for the nearest café. She had something to do, after all.

* * *

Huh. Domhnall hadn't pegged her as a crepes lover.

He followed anyway.

* * *

One thing she had never known about before was that the Basso Trari kept tabs on its students' devices during school hours. Apparently it was a legal right of educational institutions or else it would have been listed in the student guidebook. Either way, one of the things she'd had to handle after that slightly disastrous battle on the boulevard was the _faculty_ asking about her Device deactivating during the period she'd been in the Barrier.

She'd passed them along to the Ispettore, of course. Claiming they'd have a better idea than she did.

In truth, she wasn't fully sure what caused that. Certainly 'Linker Magic', as she'd come to call it, seemed to fail in the Daemon Barriers but the only real source of information on that had been Kyubey, and Kyubey's explanations were always... spotty. Confusing. Daemon Barriers were completely different from the Mid-Childean kind which was rather obvious really, but.

...How had it put it again?

The 'Linker' field of Barrier spells existed to temporarily time-shift everything with a certain magical signature. Under the legislation of the Time and Space Administration Bureau, all magic use was to be strictly non-lethal, and Barriers served to allow high-rank mages to operate to their full potential without fear of collateral damage. It was a Military / Police thing.

She'd never been in one herself. All she'd seen on the TVs was they made everything turn dull and grey. Frankly they looked a little boring; crime dramas always spruced them up a little.

Daemon Barriers, though...

Any given Daemon emitted what they called _Miasma_ ; an unnatural distortion against the world that... how had the Incubators put it? "Created an environment favourable to Daemons". Enough Daemons - and thus enough Miasma - and that condensed fully into a wholesale Daemon Barrier; their own private pocket dimension where even the laws of physics could be fully rewritten to their advantage. Anything relying on complex systems - like, say, modern dimensional magic - would just break down, as the natural laws they were built around simply no-longer held true.

Puella Magi like herself were supposedly exempt from this - their Soul Gem apparently counteracted the problem; she didn't pretend to understand how exactly - but at E-Rank, it was hardly her problem. Bigger was that the Miasma exuded would fog people's minds; put them in trance like states. They would never realise what happened afterwards - she'd tried interrogating someone once; it was like their brain had just started making things up to fill the gap - which made the Puella's lives considerably easier, but it _also_ left them mindless and defenceless against the Daemons themselves, which was... no good thing...

She shuddered. _That_ was the rule she was glad Puella Magi were exempt from. If Daemons were adapted to hunting humans, Puella were adapted to hunting Daemons. A small mercy, if nothing else.

But a Daemon could spawn from any outpouring of grief in the world. Draining the lives of their captives they could spawn more Daemons. From the grief and sorrow over their captives' deaths, they could spawn more Daemons. It was a sick, and terrible system... and one that could rapidly get out of control.

Which is why she had to keep up the patrols. Right now, she was the only line of defence.

In Miasma, luckily, her Device still reported where she was, even if it was no-longer present on her person when she transformed (she hadn't figured that one out yet either). In a Daemon Barrier, though... well, 'where you were' in a Barrier was something of an abstract question...

It had been something she'd never paid attention to before, and now it was coming back to bite her as the faculty trawled back through their records and started finding numerous holes. And asking numerous questions. She really should have seen that coming... at least the Incubators could guide her through diverting their attention, having seen and helped thousands of other girls with the exact same problem.

...Though if they'd warned her about that in advance, that would also have been nice. 'You never asked' indeed...

The solution, when she'd hit on it, was rather obvious. Just take the thing off and leave it somewhere clandestine. She wasn't supposed to be able to do that (they normally registered when you took them off, for exactly the same reason she was doing it), but hey. Contract perks.

An indoor café and some duct tape later, and her Device was neatly hidden on the underside of a table. It helped it was only the size of a large watch after all. Then all she had to do was head to the toilets and slip out of the window. And no-one would ask where she'd been going, especially if she really _was_ being tailed.

* * *

" _Well, they're in for processing. Management'll probably have to let the second one go; we've nothing to actually book him on."_

Domhnall leaned back in his seat - a creaky wicker thing - pretending to be reading something on a mental Device projection. It was a fairly common expression where tourists were concerned; looking up maps, day plans or just random curiosities. It also meant the serving staff would wait until he'd 'finished', which made things less confusing when coordinating with Freiderike wherever she was in the city.

" _One's enough; it's a starting point. Anything from Diarmuid?"_

" _One second-"_ There was a pause, presumably as Freiderike consulted the borrowed Device. Telepathy wasn't audio after all, so it was just silence to him. " _No. Nothing on drones. What about your end?"_

Domhnall sighed.

" _Followed her into a café. Want anything?"_

Fred hmm'd. _"They do any pastries?"_

" _The Belkan kind."_ The Boredom was starting to creep back in again. The rest of the cafe-goers looked completely ordinary, no-one else sat at Renza's table, no-one had followed them in (so far) and equally no-one had followed her into the toilets. Not a lot to go on. _"Look a little average though."_

" _Eh, probably'd still beat the station cafeteria. I'll take two."_

" _Two it is."_

" _I'll be back about half an hour. Sodding paperwork"_

Domh smirked. _"Don't break the penpushers."_

Freiderike laughed bitterly through the connection in a way that made him feel terribly sorry for anyone on the other end. Slumping forward, he dropped the 'look' and waved a hand, signalling the staff. Since Veneti was apparently just taking her lunch break as a lunch break, he couldn't see much point in not getting some himself.

* * *

Vaulting the rooftops of the Commercial District and heading into the centre, Renza took advantage of her natural speed. It was the fastest route and (without her Device to clock speeds the Trari would ask awkward questions about) probably the best disguise too; people on the streets wouldn't get much more than a blur and fliers were pretty common around here. She even passed a few who waved hello... probably; at this speed it was hard to tell. Her Puella outfit didn't stand out that much in the world of configurable Jackets and she was travelling too fast to be ID'd; she probably just looked like an off-duty duty air cadet. She kept up her momentum as the heights of the buildings steadily rose; her target never out of sight on the Valezorro skyline.

The Basilica Vaillieu had been built in a cross configuration; the immense central tower - visible from all of Valezorro back in the Dawn States - and four grand halls. Each hall wide enough to fit an entire marketplace were anyone was willing to try, and long enough to require underpasses being constructed several centuries ago to ease the flow of traffic; the Office of Transportation and the Saint Church were constantly batting heads about trying to expand them. Their steeply pitched Belkan roofs, dated all the way back to its original construction, rose up several stories all on their own, meaning the spires on the regular supporting buttresses couldn't be seen on one side from the other.

The target spire in question was not particularly noteworthy. The sixteenth spire from the tower to the end of the Western Hall, on the left hand side; it had nothing to set it apart from all the others, just a regular stone and tile old-Belkan needle. Whilst the tower was cleaned regularly, the Hall spires were only passed over once a year, mostly to check for structural defects, and on a predictable schedule; there were just too many of them for the Church to realistically do anything more. So far they'd yet to find what it made it special, and she knew when she would need to move it for a few days when the time came. Or maybe they'd see it and leave it be; she wasn't going to risk it finding out.

The spires of the Halls were actually their own miniature towers; an ancient holdover from the Church's early leanings (not many remembered the Basilica used to be a _fortress_ and the Church never took pains to remind people). The old shutters had long since been removed and the ways in from the Halls sealed centuries ago, turning what once would have been a hidden sentry post into nothing more than decoration and a nesting place for birds. They'd learnt to avoid this one though; the room smelt cool, clear and dry; more of dust, rain and stone than anything else. She'd run out of the old perfume.

Compared to the Basilica it wasn't much of a shrine, but she knew the one it was dedicated to do wouldn't want anything more.

Renza slipped in silently through the room's only opening; the ancient, worn down viewing slit. The only route to this abandoned sentry hole was either by flight or through reinforced acrobatics that should only be possible to an A- or extremely high B- Rank mage in the first place... or by the application of hook, rope and a whole lot of patience and time. Thus, the Church considered the old watchtowers closed to vagrants; those of the organisation that even knew they were there.

The Church had never heard of Puella Magi.

A small pile of blankets took up one side of the room, cold, ragged and stiff with age. They reached from one end of the room to the other easily; the sentry-hole was a space smaller even than her bola; barely larger than a closet at the Basso Trari. They were still more comfortable to sit on than the stonework floor.

Faded blankets aside, the majority of colour in the space came from the window - where Valezorro continued its hustle and bustle under the golden light of noon - and the small but carefully chosen collection of trinkets. Not too many; their owner never knew when they'd all need to be collected and thrown together into the mass of blankets so she could find a new place to sleep during the day, though maybe they would have increased given the security of this little find.

Taken individually, each one made very little sense.

An old clock - actually mechanical; some old Galean thing made from copper and brass - probably worth a small fortune to collectors if it wasn't so miserably battered and broken. It pointed the time with its hands rather than simply telling you on request, and Renza was pretty sure it was supposed to have two instead of only one, slightly crooked in the middle. It was frozen permanently just past 'IX' and she didn't know how to make it turn itself again.

A small collection of stones and precious metals; rubies mostly, she'd always had a thing for that colour. Earrings, patterned beads, random stones that just caught her eye one day. And then there was the actual jewellery, which _had_ to have been lifted from somewhere. Renza had never asked. These pieces had always been the most transient; most likely to be left behind. Or, for that matter, sold. Puella had to eat, too, and stealing wasn't exactly 100% reliable.

Tassels; strips of cloth dyed red and blue, bearing prayers in Belkan script inked on both sides then wrapped together into a rope and hung from above on hooks they'd hammered into the ceiling. The Belkan was scratchy, but serviceable, and Renza had had to help with the grammar in places but their prayers were well meant. Requests to Elisabet II, the Streben-Kaiser of Victory, for aid, and - naturally - pleas to the Sankt-Kaiser Olivie, the Mercy of Vollständigkeit, for her wisdom and peace. These had been a relatively new addition; the origin of the ink and strips was plainly obvious. She'd asked Renza to get them after all.

Probably the most plain looking and yet also most memorable was the battered old box - black, probably covered in felt once - taking up an entire corner. It contained a cheap, frankly tacky tea set, the sort the markets hawked to tourists during the summer season, and was a considerable pain to haul around whenever their owner had to move. It had been that girl's favourite possession, and she'd never left it behind. Kaisers, Renza had offered to get her a new one once and she'd been outright _affronted._

The room would have contained more, at one time; mostly food and money; but for now, this was what it was. Apart from a few extra tassels dangling from the ceiling - blacks and whites this time; using the blues and reds just didn't feel right - the only addition was a framed photograph. It sat atop the old black box next to a small silver casket, barely larger than a snuffbox.

The photograph was cheap, but the frame wasn't. She'd had to go through some lengths to get it. To say nothing of the casket; that silver was genuine.

Elbows on knees and chin in hands, Renza sat and gazed at the picture, looking back at the memory frozen in time.

They'd gotten a passing tourist to take it; it'd been hilarious. A wonderful trick. Poor old guy had absolutely no idea what to make of them; one a young girl in Caglican Blue, hair and all, her costume peppered with white lace, grinning and posing for the camera with a undersized zweihander axe that looked too real and gleamed too brightly to be a shrunken down replica of a museum piece; the other taller, with vaguely Castillan features, dressed in blazing yellow; a tomboyish bolero and white cravat over a black undershirt that somehow managed to _work_ despite being patently ridiculous. How that hat had always stayed on Renza never knew; she wished she could have saved the feather. Whilst Renza's axe was smaller than it should have been, the arbalest the yellow girl posed with was almost comically _too large_.

(She summoned smaller ones in day to day life, of course; it had just been funny at the time).

Renza sat, smiling sadly, as the tassels clinked in the faint breeze.

" _Ich hatt' einen Kameraden, einen bessern findst du nit_. _"_

She sighed after finishing the prayer.

"Made any stars yet, Roche?"

She shifted uncomfortably on the stiff fabric.

"I'm doing fine; Valezorro's surviving with just me. Kyubey says he might have a few new contracts lined up; I'll try to teach them well. Won't let them do all the dumb things I did back then... I. I... screwed up a bit earlier; if you saw it, you'd probably scold me. There was only fourteen of them and I ended up in the Serenità again; I'm alright now... but I've worried everyone." She giggled. "Kyubey is even having to call in a subcontractor to clean things up. You always said you wanted to meet one!"

Renza slumped down, hugging her knees.

"Odi and Sam are alright; they still remember you, you know. My father's worried though and I'm not... sure how to deal with it. I... I'm brushing it off as best I can and I don't want him to worry but..."

She looked up at the hard, flat picture. The glass frame shone in the afternoon light.

"...this is going to keep happening, isn't it?"

She dropped her head.

"This is going to keep happening, and I'm going to keep worrying them and..."

She shivered.

"I'll a find a way. I can make it somehow, I'm sure. It's what everyone would want after all. It's just... I don't know how... I don't know if I can tell him or..."

She pumped her fist.

"I'll keep fighting though! I will protect this city! I'll keep fighting; I'll get better and I won't get hurt again, you'll see! Kyubey will find some new girls to take the slack, it's just a bit busy right now!"

She laughed.

"So don't worry, Roche. It'll be alright."

Smiling at the picture and silver casket set atop that battered old box, she rose, dusting herself off gracefully. One foot on the watch-step, she paused half-way through squeezing through the view slit; looking back into the room - significantly darker now she blocked most of the sunlight. She smiled at it anyway.

"See you in the stars."

And then she was gone.

* * *

She'd managed to dry her face before she slipped back into the toilets.

* * *

...Something wasn't right about this.

" _Freiderike, what's the location on Veneti's Device?"_

" _Still in the café; why?"_

Something he should have spotted earlier, stupid _stupid-_

" _She went straight into the toilets and hasn't come out since. Never even ordered."_

There was a pause, before Freiderike's response came back sounding distinctly unnerved. _"She's still in the café according to the tap. Device is still on too."_

Old memories; old tricks. _He shouldn't have forgotten about this_. _"Is it moving?"_

" _...No. One second."_

There was a lull, probably Diar- _"Diarmuid says the signal hasn't moved at all since she entered."_

No-one ever suspects the schoolgirls.

Domhnall stood.

" _Now what?"_

" _Have Diarmuid deploy drones; search the surrounding area. How close are you?"_

" _Two minutes ETA."_

He walked across to the table the Veneti girl had sat at. Still unnocuppied, not that that mattered. A quick glance at the underside revealed a bulky black shape. It pulled away with the rip of packing tape.

" _I have her Device."_ He told Freiderike. His partner's response was about what he'd expected.

" _ **What the fuck** is this girl playing at?!"_

" _No idea."_ Probably.

" _You want me to put up a General Order? I can-"_

" _Hold that."_

Renza Veneti stood staring at him in the doorway.

" _She's right here."_


	4. Flytrap

The wind was biting up here. She'd never really felt it before.

Without her Device, her Jacket could only last a few minutes before disappating - not counting the time in her Puella transformation - and... well, those minutes had passed. E-Ranks... had their downsides. It wasn't that she had no magic whatsoever (there was another Rank below hers before you reached _that_ point), but even the heavily optimised civillian Jackets were still... kind of complex. Definitely the sort of magic you'd need a Device to manage the calculations for.

As it was, Renza sat on a stool on the roof of an old Valezian structure in the Commercial district, the two Judicial Ispettore sat before her on the opposite end of a folding table, wearing only her baggy emergency clothes and shivering beneath the scratchy orange fabric. Jackets did more than provide convient clothing; they also served to regulate temperature and generate barriers against wind and soft impacts; hers were a little sloppy she had to admit but she could feel their absence now _._

The sunlight itched faintly on her skin but it was the wind that was _freezing_. Was it normal for an equatorial region to be this cold? Yes, the emergency clothes were warm but...

Plus... well, Jackets weren't actually spun from cloth. They were just mana constructs that happened to look an awful lot like it - or not, as the fashionista desired. The mass-produced fabric on her arms and legs scratched and itched and no amount of uncomfortable shifting made it stop. They were also garaunteed to fit the user, whereas Renza's hands were practically drowning themselves in the sleeves.

For his part, Domhnall rather wished he'd given the girl her Device back himself, if only to keep the reflective glare out of his eyes. Unfortunately the moment had passed, but at least the awkwardness was proving a point. For an E-Ranker who couldn't support a Jacket unassisted, leaving their Device behind was just the height of stupidity _without_ your life being in danger from the mob. Sooner that fact was cemented the better.

Right now, it was a stalemate. Veneti clearly expected him to start, but he was waiting on her as a matter of professional conduct. She knew why she was here; they'd caught her red handed, and he wasn't about to start potentially leading her. How someone started to explain themselves could give away more than most people knew. Plus... well, he honestly didn't have a clue what the girl had been playing at, and so he had no opening questions.

Thus, the deadlock.

Freiderike, having finished locking down the barca behind them, flopped into the seat by his side and started chewing loudly on one of the pastries without an ounce of shame. Domhnall stared.

"What?" She asked, aggressively innocent. "You _did_ pay for the things."

 _...Belkans_.

She wafted the other one in Veneti's direction. "Want one?"

Veneti took it more on confused politeness than anything else, holding it in both hands and waiting for someone to tell her what was going on. Domhnall sighed.

"You know, falsifying Device readings isn't technically a crime; it's your own property, but you're putting your life at risk if the rescue teams can't locate you in an emergency. In your case, it would be an anti-social misdemeanour, or potentially a case for self endangerment." He folded his hands to form a rest for his chin as he studied the girl before him. The collapsible chairs and table they kept in the barca had proved a surpringly useful addition over the past few months.

His eyes watched Veneti carefully. "Both are too minor offences for it to be worth the Judiciary's time and funding. Particularly amongst people your age, we just pass such incidents off to the Church. Where we catch it of course."

Which meant, inevitably, it would get back to the Basso Trari that she'd inconvenienced the two Inspettore managing her own case. According to the Device tap her Jacket was still set to her school uniform. He knew she'd make the connection.

Veneti had made no response; just waiting quietly for him to finish, pastry in hand. He wasn't sure whether to impressed or worried. She still had that startled look in her eye though; probably this was the first time the girl had been seriously pulled over by the Judiciary. She'd given a similar impression when they'd met in the Serenità. Hopeful sign.

Dohmnall kept going. "Ultimately, however, the matter is at the Ispettore's discretion. We have no official obligation to report it. So, please; could you start by explaining what's going on?"

Veneti considered, and nibbled the pastry. Delaying tactic, or she needed time to collect herself. He kept his face neutral. This was always the problem in dealing with kids.

On Renza's side, she was chewing the pastry mostly to keep her hands from shaking. This... this was not something she'd expected. Not something she knew how to deal with. Hospitals, sure. Penne, sure. _Ispettore?_ Roche had known a bit about the Judiciary but that was mostly related to _avoiding_ them not...

There was, at least, one thing to fall back on. _"Kyubey, what do I do?"_

The Incubator sat on the roof of the Ispettore' barca, tail awishing, unnoticed by anyone else.

" _Lie, or tell the truth."_

She blinked at that.

" _...The truth? Really?"_

" _Six days, Renza."_ The creature reminded her casually. _"Then none of this will matter."_

She swallowed. No... that would just complicate things. It was probably a given she was being recorded. The black box on the man's arm had the traditional look of an Investigative Device.

" _You've had to manage this kind of thing in the past, haven't you?"_

" _Naturally."_

" _Then, what works?"_

The Kyubey's head tilted as Renza nibbled. And listened.

Dohmnall observed silently as Veneti finished the pastry, fiddled with her fingers for a few seconds and then slumped onto her hands. Here we go.

"I..." She began, hesitant. "I met a guy."

Domhnall waited.

"It was... three months ago. I... he's a good person! He showed me how to do that with my Device it's just..."

The girl squirmed. He could sympathise; emergency gear was never particularly comfortable. Shivering in the flabby orange jumpsuit almost twice her size... she really was just a kid.

"If people knew, there'd be trouble, so..."

...He knew it had to be something stupid. Domhnall sighed.

Freiderike chomped loudly through her pastry with a very doubtful air, making Veneti twitch.

"I-It's true!"

Seemed to shiver a lot. Cold? Fear? Relationship issues? He was terrible at reading children.

"What's his name?" He asked evenly, entirely unaware that on the opposite side, Renza was having the exact same problem. Both of them were just so _blank_ , so professional, like little white boards she could write down all her testimonies on so they could read them back in court. She couldn't tell what they were thinking at all.

But the Incubators could.

" _Deflect the question;"_ Kyubey advised immediately, _"his Device will look up names."_

"I-I..." Renza hesitated, flustering. "...Do I have to?"

"Do you have any reason not to tell an Ispettore?" Pinici asked mildly.

She bowed her head. "I don't want word to spread."

Pinici sighed. "We're not interested in gossip; we're doing this for your own sake."

That... confused her. " _...Si?_ "

The table went oddly quiet; the Ispettore frowning behind those folded hands. "...You were attacked."

Oh. _Oh._

Suddenly everything felt horribly obvious.

"H-He wouldn't hurt anyone!" She improvised quickly. This was turning into a minefield and if the Ispettore got the wrong idea-

Pinici raised his head from his arms, now displaying genuine confusion. Which was somehow more terrifying than everything earlier.

"Even so, you live in Tosca territory, don't you? We've looked into your family history and-"

" _It's not like that-!_ "

-Wait, no, was that a good answer? It could- but- no- wait-

The Ispettore just stared.

Silence fell between them, the wind tearing at her hair. She found herself shivering.

When the Ispettore spoke again, he was leaning forward, hands under his chin, and watching her with a careful, focused intensity. It was like trying to say no to her father; lying to a higher authority than the Trari Sorella. Which she was, technically. She could no more dodge their questions than she could stop the sea.

But she had to, so she gave them her full attention.

"Are you sure of this?" The man asked.

She clenched the sleeves of her coat under the table. "Yes."

The woman tilted her head. "If this is putting you in danger, you need to tell us."

"I know. It's not."

"You were attacked, before."

"That's unrelated. And, that was an accident, wasn't it?"

The Ispettore remained silent as they looked her in the eyes. She saw something shift in there, like doors closing shut.

They didn't believe her. It was obvious she wasn't giving them full information. But she couldn't do that, and had to work with it. If she gave them anything to work with - false or otherwise - then they would... work with it, and the investigation would continue. The best course of action was to give them nothing at all, and hope the Kyubey's subcontractor would arrive on time.

"You know," the man asked quietly, "I usually make a point of not interfering in family affairs, but are you aware of who you are related to?"

Renza nodded calmly.

Another blustery moment passed. It was fortunate there wasn't anything on the table.

"Are you sure your life is not in danger?"

"Yes."

"You live in a Tosca area."

"I am aware of that. There's a protection racket; paid."

"We arrested two men following you with known connections."

"Even so. Please; trust my judgement on this."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. And then Renza found herself presented with a heavy, black shape, packing tape removed.

She took her Device back calmly, strapping it back onto her wrist. Her Jacket reformed around her, warm and cutting out the wind.

The Ispettore was handing her something else, too.

"My card." He explained, standing. The man struck a dark, shabby figure against the Valezorro skyline. The woman slid out of her seat with a small sigh, making her seat collapse with a practised motion.

She took her Device back quietly. " _Gratza saneto._ "

The man was still watching her, weary and tired. Like he'd seen all this before.

"If you ever want to talk about it, contact me. I can promise confidentiality."

She nodded. "Thank you."

The woman started collapsing the furniture; she stood to get out of their way. In silence; no offer of a lift; the two repacked their gear and restarted their barca, Renza staying in position even as the air shifted and blew out around her.

She stood, and she watched, as the Judicial Ispettore took off into the sky, leaving her behind.

* * *

It took five minutes to reach the canals towards the Judicial district. It passed in silence.

"Well, Fred?" He began, finally. "What do you think?"

Freiderike hmm'd angrily behind the wheel, watching the waterways. Returning to Judiciary required passing through Commercial, and Commercial, as always, was packed. They'd dropped the colours, transforming them into seemingly ordinary civilians, though really after a cursory glance what they were was a little obvious to anyone who knew the signs. Still, this was Valezorro, and some discretion was better than none.

"Holding back, obviously. She doesn't want to tell us something. But that's the thing." She took a turning, and sighed to herself as they hit the tail end of a queue. "I think she believes she's doing the right thing. It's tricky."

Domhnall nodded. Pretty much his conclusion of events. Diamuid was sending the recordings back to the Polizern's data processing centre; hopefully that could squeeze more truth out of things.

It had been a damn long time since he'd been a kid; if there was ever a question of which of them was better with children... well, there just wasn't much of a question. It wasn't even a statement on Freiderike; he just wasn't good with kids. Not at that age. Impossible to decide whether they were adults or not.

"You're sure?"

Freiderike nodded. "I'm sure."

"Coercion?"

She grimaced. "Not like that I don't think."

That caught his attention. "Oh?"

Freiderike tapped the steering wheel, and took a moment to reply whilst she handled a turning. Barcas could turn on a dime, one of the main reason they were more popular than, say, simple motorboats; Valezorro's canalways could get pretty sharp and narrow in places.

Most of them hadn't initially been canals.

"The guy thing is a lie." She stated with certainty.

He tilted has head. "How so?"

Freiderike shrugged. "Call it intuition. It just doesn't fit. Not saying there isn't another person involved, but I'd be surprised if it was like that."

He sighed as the traffic skiffed to a halt in front of them.

"...She's doing something stupid, isn't she."

Freiderike didn't answer that. Not much need to.

The barcas drifted slowly above the waterline.

"The Judiciary won't waste its time on an uncooperative slumgirl." She observed instead. "Short of hoping she'll come forward and tell us, we can't do anything. Dead case."

Domhnall nodded, prepared for that. Almost seemed what the Veneti girl had been wanting. "Dead case."

Hence the card.

Freiderike watched him in the mirror. "What's gotten you all invested in this anyway? It's not like you."

That... he couldn't deny that. Just another kid from the slum-docks; just another tragedy of Valezorro that happened all the time, Judiciary or no Judiciary. They could only do so much. So why focus here?

There was a reason; and it was frankly unprofessional. Letting sentimentality get involved...

He sighed wearily, trying to grip on his thoughts. Freiderike spared him a glance. A flash of black hair and pale green eyes.

Ah. Childhood. How could he forget.

"It's the table trick." He settled on, finally as the line started moving again. "Máirín used to do the exact same thing before she disappeared."

His partner looked sympathetic, but made no comment. She knew the story.

Yes, things like this just happened all the time around here.

"If she won't take help, there's nothing we can do. When we get back, we'll drop the case." Domhnall decided wearily. "Unless she chooses to offer up explanations."

Freiderike knew how it ended too. "Or we find her in the canals."

* * *

Her opinion was pretty much final.

"She ain't got a clue; brainless slum rat."

He lounged on his ski, bobbing gently in the water, cigarette hanging limply from dry, worn lips. The acrid aroma of the burning stick overtook the usual salt, fish and oil smells of Valezorro. At least they were nowhere near Industrial. "You sure? Thought you said she's intelligent."

Natalie laughed bitterly in the alley overhang, tossing an apple in one hand. "Books, sure, but she's an idiot. Acting like nothing's happened. Stupid girl."

He sighed. "So she's a no-go then."

That earned a derisive snort, followed by the _crunch_ of a bite being torn out. "Pretty so; might've got us in with the Delgado sure but just you watch; she'll be dead within the week."

Wince. "Lil' pessimistic."

"Ain't pessimism. Between those Tosca fucks and the Judi, someone's gonna kill 'er."

He rubbed his chin; meeting greasy stubble. Reminder: needed to shave. "I dunno; can't we save her anyway? Castillan loyalty thing?"

"Oh like they're going to give a fuck; it was a long shot anyway. She's just some bastard crawling in the slum; halfie too. Think she'd be a full Valezi just to look at her."

"...Let me guess; blue?"

"Oooh yeah. Down to here. Still one-a our's though." She waved her hand. "It's in the face."

He sighed, puffing smoke out into the breeze. The multistory houses of the Residential districts provided ample shade from the afternoon sun, scattering warm, easy colours through the narrow canal. All the island cities had places like these; old paths and crannies that found themselves unexpectedly forming knife-like canals with the rise of the Ocean Crisis. What Natalie stood on probably technically used to be a roof, since reworked into a pedestrian platform.

The gently drifting waters provided a relaxing cadence.

Natalie threw the core into the river.

"Well, 'tween everything it's gonna be a clusterfuck alright. Not like the Judi and Tosca need any excuse."

She shrugged, still half a silhouette in the shaded alleyway. "I'll watch it for sure, but it ain't worth sticking my head out over."

He agreed, watching the smoke drift away. "...Gonna be a mess."

Natalie kept in her alcove, hidden from the noonday sun.

"Say, Jacque..."

"Nn?"

"If I did drag her out of it... they let me in for that, y'think?"

"Ya ain't 16 _chica_. That's Cosa rules."

She snorted bitterly. "Yeah, not worth a try."

* * *

Wandering the markets of Commercial, Renza took in the sights, smells and sounds of Valezorro.

A little like the slumdocks with more money and slightly more planning, Commercial had, over the years, turned into yet another chaotic mess of arches, shaded walkways, marketplaces, stalls and buildings in an interconnected, multilevel maze; old Valezian architecture merging with Galean ironwork, Belkan masonry and more modern concrete and glass, with temporary timber and scaffold tents crammed into all the spaces inbetween. Put simply, it was a giant, colossal, multicultural smelting pot. Colours hung from every corner. New sights from every stall. Easily her favourite part of the city.

Down here, things could be roughly split into three categories. The retail stores - typically transdimensional, corporate affairs, but you had local ones popping up here and had there - that started appearing with the advent of the TSAB and the resolution of the Ocean Crisis that made establishing businesses on the island cities actually viable for more than ethical reasons. These had their own buildings, logos and hired staff, but tended to be expensive and wouldn't accept bartering; nor would their security trust a slum-docker worth a damn (suspected or otherwise). Things like banks and barca showrooms were cloistered away in Economic.

Below them, you had the two levels of merchants. Put simply, the first could afford a license to put their stall up in the atrial Boulevards that ran through the district, and the second could not. On the Boulevards, things were kept generally respectable, with private cameras and a few on-duty Judiciary around to keep an eye on things. Off them... not so much.

If she was in anything other than her Puella outfit or the uniform of the Basso Trari, no-one would let her even get near. An unaccompanied Valezi kid, using public configurations? That there was a pick-pocket for sure! Obviously going around in her uniform at this time would just cause trouble. Her Puella outfit, though?

All the hawkers tripled their prices. She almost wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. And if they knew her _other_ last name...

Well, they'd probably wonder by what Kaiser she was even here, but anyway.

It was a waste of time to begin with; she wasn't looking to shop. For one, she didn't have the money. For another, she couldn't access her Device in this form, meaning she couldn't use the money she didn't have.

For the third, she was on patrol. She didn't... being a Puella just felt more natural right now. Simpler. Just Puella Magi and Daemons, and that was it. Being Veneti and being Delgado; all that faded away from it.

She held her gem in her hand, having removed it from the back of her neck. A necessity for patrolling, but sadly impractical in combat. She needed both her hands to fight and mercy knew what would happen if she lost it trying to hold onto it and fend off Daemons at the same time. Nothing good, she was sure, given what it was. The last thing she'd need was it accidentally winding up in the canals.

As for the crowds... well, a girl in a rich Jacket, carrying around small blue gem? Obviously she was having a telepathic conversation with an Intelligent Device. It wasn't even out of the ordinary. Kyubey would inspire comments, of course, but he was invisible to ordinary people, and off following the Ispettore to boot. That she was trusted to hunt on her own was a reassuring sign.

Though most Daemons spawned in Industrial, pickings there for them would be slim. No, typically the Daemons wouldn't hang around there for long after they'd spawned. You wanted a place with high population density, where disappearances would be missed and with high chances for grief? Commercial was the obvious answer. Kaisers, but Roche had been a cynic.

She could almost remember her, dancing across the rooftops. Watching the city down below.

" _That's what they do, y'know? They hit ya where it's worst."_

...Fighting the Daemons was a public good. A moral obligation. No-one could find fault for her in _that_ , surely?

Her soul gem flashed in the noon light.

She had a trail.

* * *

Diarmuid negotiated the docking arrangements. Freiderike brought them in following the barca's internal HUD holographics, the Judicial barca and the Polizern's traffic coordinators hashing out the directions to a free space. They used one of the docks for the flight-capable barca; an enclosed parking area several floors up fed into by an exposed landing/departure balcony. Fred brought them in perfectly, having done it a million times before.

Their craft shut down after they exited, the external mana projections switching off and leaving it completely identical to the rows of the other blank grey-blue Judicial barca in the bay. Dark and musty with vehicle fumes and humming power connectors, the barca dock had that feeling of a place that would be pleasantly cool if their Jackets didn't handle thermals anyway.

Domhnall yawned, waiting for Freiderike to finish locking up. She snorted as her glove-Device and the vehicle beeped joint assent.

"Caffi addict."

"Shoot me."

The made their way down the central channel between the rows of docks to an elevator, bland, functional and plain in that way government buildings always were. A few moments of tedium and bad music later and they were in the _Polizern Judicia_ proper.

The atmosphere, as usual, was a mixture of stale caffi and mild professional chaos. As they left the elevator from the barca docks, they had to get out of the way of a squad going in exactly the opposite direction. Pretty normal, all told.

The lower offices, closest to the docks, were where the bulk of day-to-day dispatch work and organisation happened; resembling somewhere half-way between a ready lounge, a very loud call centre and an extremely haphazard armoury. People manning comms rubbed elbows with people repairing devices avoided rubbing elbows with people just off-rotation and trying to nap. In the centre of the floor, in probably the least convenient place possible, a large black bank of Intelligent Devices sat managing dispatch routes and providing general command and coordination. The sad thing was they'd since found over a dozen better places to put them; they just couldn't afford to switch the damn things off. They were still working on getting the backups online; those things cost _money_.

As Ispettore, it wasn't their department, so they just passed straight through, though Freiderike took the air in a little wistfully; waving to a few people. Domhnall just stole a caff.

Up two flights of stairs and spread across several more were the Ispettore offices; since they didn't need much beyond enough room to fit an Evidence Table, they were just crammed in in the places all the other divisions didn't need. Not at the top, not at the bottom. Not, often, near the windows. The cheap florescent lighting was harsh and acerbic, washing out all the faded woodwork and scuffed floors. The Polizern Judicia used to be the old centre of Governance before that moved into its new, modern headquarters in its own dedicated District. The Judiciary had just inherited the old buildings; before during the Ocean Crisis they'd all been working out of the old Galean Royal Army barracks in the south of town. Were they a museum now? Or had the Church had them torn down...

Ah, he couldn't remember. Cared less. That place had been an obsolete, rickety deathtrap.

Either way, the corridors were bland, bale and boring. It was all back-stage from here. About the most interesting thing they could hope to find back here were the watercoolers. With the Veneti case dropped, the both had a debriefing to file into the databases and a new case to look forward to.

And Director Rice Pascal, Old Man of the Judiciary, smiling, waiting patiently outside their door.

* * *

It lead her high and low; the daemons must have swept through the area to gather their prey elsewhere. It was enough to make her ill; the patterns her gem was flashing. This trail hadn't even started to fade; it had to have happened in broad daylight just a few hours ago. It was ridiculous, absurd; a giant, droning monster just passing straight through crowds of civilians? All of them unaware of its presence, all unwitting as the unlucky were pulled under its thrall...

They must have known she wouldn't be around to catch them. They weren't visible to ordinary people but to a Puella Magi or even an Incubator they'd stand out like a sore thumb. The thought was more than a little terrifying... one lone Puella Magi to one massive, sprawling city...

They knew. The chill she felt was far worse than the wind.

It took several hours for a Daemon to drain someone, and this trail was younger than that. Still, Renza found herself instinctively starting to rush. Would there be more? Kaiser's Mercy what if there were groups of them at it at the same time- if she'd gone back to the Trari they'd have- _Saints, how many times had this happened before-_

The trail was close, but it hardly mattered. She was running for it. Off the street paths and bounding along the rooftops, following the Daemons' 'footprints' - a trail of lingering Miasma - purely on instinct. Commercial beyond the boulevards was a maze built on a maze; buildings rising up and falling down by the day; a rat's nest of factories and docks and marketplaces and storefronts too chaotic for any simple map. She just ran. She didn't need to know where she was. She didn't need to know where the Daemon was. She just needed to follow the trail.

And be there in time.

It was completely stupid of course she'd be there in time _she had hours_ but the shock of it all...

Instinct called her to a halt, skidding on a flat, airy rooftop deep amongst the warehouses, overlooking an old dock long since filled in with concrete to make a slightly uneven loading platform and landing area. Commercial needed somewhere for its commerce, after all. Dark and musty in the shadows of the covered markets and the encroaching towers of the Economic district, it really did have all the trappings of a haunting ground.

Her gem wasn't doing anything spectacular, merely seeming to flash, but she knew this was it, as surely as she knew up from down and the way she needed to breathe. If anyone ever asked her, she'd never be able to explain quite how. It was in the air.

Her grip stiffened. The answer was obvious. It was because she was a Puella Magi. What else could do such things? The Puella hunted the Daemons who hunted the humans. That was how it worked. Of course she'd know how to do it. There was Miasma in the air.

The warm, lively gem nestled neatly behind her head. Her hands flicked out, ornate axes emerging into their rightful place. The silence of the warehouse district began to rise; a brassy, unnatural hum.

Time to get to work.

* * *

They came for him during lunch break.

Shipbuilding was an exhausting job. Mostly, they built fishing trawlers; essentially just the barest possible bones for a ship and as much space and structural support for cargo haulage and equipment as they could fit within regulations. As a Myedoan C-Rank, he fabricated the structural supports and was partially responsible for holding everything together and in place whilst the engine and systems specialists did their part. Lunch was important partly because it gave them all a rest, but mostly because it gave him a change to recharge and refocus.

The Tosca contact didn't quite help.

" _Benezerre santono;_ bad news my friend."

She slid into the opposite chair. The cafeteria was as full as you'd expect from the time; loud and noisy both from the kitchens and the continuing pound of industry outside. One of the other shipbuilders; a fellow Myedoan caster, her dark blue hair tied into an over-the-shoulder braid in the Valezian style; entwined with white and blue ribbons.

Ciardo kept himself focused on his soup. Fish, as usual; always common in Valezorro. They nicknamed it _zuppa di Mare_ \- 'Ocean Soup' - since it tended to get watered down so much it was if the catch had never left. That and the damned salt.

She sipped at her drink, a little nervous. She looked apologetic, if anything.

"The Judi are up to something Ciar. _Bastardo_ Pascal's involved."

Ciardo grunted.

"There's nothing on record either; all's hush hushed within the jackboots."

Ciardo frowned.

She leaned in. "They're visiting the Delgado family. 'Louis Delgado' sound familiar to you?"

He'd paused. It did. Of course it did.

His contact leaned in, watching him carefully. "Don't know exactly what they're playing at with that lot, but they sure got a stir surrounding your little girl."

She watched him earnestly, even as he'd frozen up in his seat.

"You've always been good with us; so we want to be good with you, but we need your help, Ciar. The Judi will never give you anything. You got this job from us, si? You need the assists, si? Can't fight the world on your own."

His entire body felt cold. He knew what she was asking of him.

"...Fine." He said, simply.

She smiled, and flicked a small, metal object over to his side of the table. He caught it automatically; snatching it out of the air. He hardly needed to look at it to know what it would be.

A small metal ring, with a blue stone set in the top.

His contact was smiling warmly now, raising her cup. "Welcome to the Tosca, my friend."

Just like that.

They drank. The woman, at least, was able to smile confidently.

"Don't worry, Ciar. Everything will be alright now."

* * *

The battle began when the roof collapsed beneath her.

It went in a sudden conflagration; a scythe of beams dodged only on the whim of some deeply hardwired instinct. She didn't even register what was happening until she was rolling over the top of a giant agricultural tractor, long since rusted and abandoned after the Ocean Crisis rendered them all useless.

The metal slag of the melting roofing drifted and swirled, spiralling upwards in a lazy, surreal imitation of bubbles in water. That would be the miasma then. Good to know she wouldn't have to explain why a warehouse had demolished itself by the end of all this.

A crowd of daemons. That as far as she got before she was moving again, darting off her perch into the cover of the dusty racks of empty crates and what she assumed was ancient farming equipment. No sign of the civilians. Not good.

Lances of light dogged her, punching, tearing and slicing with impunity, always just a few moments behind.

Given the Daemon's willingness to tear this place apart, whoever they'd enthralled had to be in a different building. Probably somewhere on the other side of the Daemons so they couldn't hit them by accident. The racks where rapidly turning in a barbed wire maze of floating and ragged debris, resembling less ancient but ordered rows and more an angry metal bush as the Daemons hacked them to ribbons in the twisted gravity.

The worst of it was the _dust_. There must have been inches of the stuff before now, but the sudden anarchy had thrown it all to the sky. Under the warped laws of the miasma, it was staying there too, forming thick, foggy clouds that scratched at her face as she dashed through.

Asphyxiation wasn't a worry. Not compared to being _unable to see_.

Whatever instinct it was keeping her alive, she was forced to rely on it now. Sudden jerks, ducks and dances took hold of her body as flashes of light crashed past from nowhere, everywhere and anywhere. Too fast to see. Too fast to comprehend; sudden flashes in the smoke that were already screaming past her ears in an erratic, random barrage by the time they registered. She couldn't think; couldn't manage it, couldn't afford to. She was dodging and weaving without a clue where she was going.

That was dangerous. Roche had spelt that lesson out loud and clear.

The shots were coming from everywhere. Probably surrounded. Too fast to charge, she was pinned in by the steams of fire. She _couldn't_ even charge; the fog ruined her perception; whatever hair-trigger instinct was keeping her alive had barely a split second to fire. Add her speed onto that and she just wouldn't be able to dodge in time.

It... this really was the perfect trap.

It was a trap.

The daemons had laid a trap. They knew what she could do. _They knew_.

She had to get out of here.

The roof buckled, tearing damn near in half as she launched up through it like a shot. The damned dust spewed off her like a rocket trail as Renza sailed up into the clear, blessed skies.

There was brief, bizarre moment of serenity as her velocity slowed. Time dragged out for a second as she hung in the air. All around her, Valezorro was like a dripping watercolour painting; swirling in an impossible heat-haze with oversized plastic gulls hanging on the horizon. Yep, Miasma alright.

Then the second barrage came.

With no way of actually moving in mid-air, Renza improvised; pulling a giant zweihander from thin air, the volley crashing into the massive axehead. Hanging onto the spike at the top whilst her feet found improbable purchase on the grip, the sudden weight dropped her like a stone.

On the plus side, it did get her to the ground faster.

The giant zweihander crashed through the deck, Renza leaping off as soon as it made contact. Shots were already trailing after her, but at the distance she'd bought, she had more than enough time to evade. She was already dodging and weaving as a pealing wail of support structures were dragged down into the pastel sea behind her.

Around six. Ish. Couldn't be completely sure. But it looked like a small group, which was a mercy in of itself. She'd spied them on the way down. There wasn't enough for a full Barrier at least.

She could... do this. She could do this.

Skidding to halt behind a dilapidated loading crane, she stopped to catch her breath. She didn't actually need to; beyond a residual twinge in her leg, her breathing came surprisingly relaxed and even. Well, Puella perks, presumably. She needed to gather herself anyway.

It had been a trap. They'd laid a trap, to catch her... but she must have triggered it early. Right... there would still be several hours until the civilians were drained, weren't there? And less than that hours before she'd normally be leaving from school. So they were the bait and... yeah. Trap.

That they had her schedule was... disturbing, but she could hardly have been the first Puella Magi who had to go to school as well. It wasn't that surprising. Should have been expected, really.

_And I guess Roche wouldn't have known about that..._

In an older time, there would have been another girl, filling the air with bolts and wires, distracting Daemons, hemming them in and rounding them up like bowling pins for Renza to crash through. In another time, there would have been teamwork. Backup. Support.

An eerie silence had descended over the old depot. Nothing but the waves.

Renza resummoned her axes, and charged.

* * *

"Can I get you a drink, Ispettore?"

Pinici deferred. Buhr shook her head. Pascal took a crushed lassé with lemon.

Louis Martice di Delgado had been waiting for them at the Villa's private dock; a quiet, open area with imported grass that doubtless served double purpose as a garden, if the flower bushes were any indication. He lead them through via a series of rooms and corridors into a well-dressed, spacious dining room with bright, high windows, already arranged with a large square table and four chairs, servants bowing out to grant them privacy. The entire villa was done in pearly-white marble and rich, Castillan reds; from the curtains to the carpets.

Domhnall knew the look; the marbles and reds were as iconic to the Delgado's ancestral island-city as the Valezian stone and blue was to Valezorro. It felt a little too false, from his perspective, like a façade; for all the ancient artwork hung on the walls and old throwbacks in the gilded columns and peaked windows, nothing could hide the fact that the Villa Delgado was very, very _new._ Too clean. Followed all the TSAB building regulations to the letter on ventilation and emergency exits. No weirdly shaped rooms or stumpy corridors from having been torn down and thrown back up five dozen times. No old-Belkan or Galean holdovers, no old scars of water damage...

Saint's Mercy he could go on forever. He shook his head. This... really wasn't the time. He was out of place in this environment; he knew it and didn't really need telling.

Director Pascal, meanwhile, acted as if he'd never left. He and Delgado exchanged greetings, debated the presence of _casto_ \- a type of soft, round biscuit the Castillans were inordinately fond of - made passing mention of the Cosa Nostra and proceeded to dance a dizzying maze of formalities and gestures Domhnall couldn't even pretend to understand the meaning of.

He resolved to just keep his mouth shut for most of the proceedings. At least until they had an idea of why they were here; Pascal had told them barely anything informative.

Just that the Veneti case wasn't dropped.

Everyone was speaking _Caglici_ , of course. The 'language of commerce' - on Caglica at least - rather than any of the local dialects. Louis took a seat first. Pascal sat opposite him, and then they progressed right by rank; Freiderike at the tail end.

No-one had set out plates at least, for which Domhnall was quietly thankful.

"Well then," Pascal said pleasantly, "shall we get to business?"

Louis smiled agreeably. "Of course, Director."

Settled into his seat, Louis Delgado made an... interesting figure. Neatly and immaculately dressed in whites and reds - as one would expect from that family - with blonde hair and red eyes; once again, the typical Delgado, and hanging on well to his youth for his age. His sister had been the same, though it seemed the Veneti girl had picked up none of their traits, save some facial structure.

Except the Delgado were supposed to be assertive. Known for it. Knowing what they wanted and plainly stating their cases to public officials such as themselves. They were - politely - an extremely blunt family.

Louis Delgado seemed to be none of these things. Just sitting there quietly, responding to Pascal but making no overtures himself. Smiling politely, as pleasant as pleasant company demanded, but nothing more. He made no demands. He'd said nothing on his own the entire time. Nothing he did seemed to reach his eyes at all.

Once again he was meeting with someone impossible to read. The man just felt empty.

Pascal, Domhnall realised with an unpleasant sort of lurch, was used to it. The old man was sipping at his lassé; even doing work on his Device - non-visibly, of course, but you could always tell - dragging Delgado in and out of the conversation with practised, familiar ease. And Delgado let him.

"This Veneti business -" sip "- all very unfortunate of course. And Jeanne's daughter- ah, can I call her your niece?"

"Of course."

"-Officially recognised as her daughter, though we try not to let it cause a fuss. Wouldn't want the undesirables finding out - cause all kinds of trouble - _is_ , in fact, we believe - Ah! I had the Trari not let word out; the Church shouldn't say anything."

Louis shrugged, a small roll of his shoulders that still didn't reach his face. "She already knows about her heritage, though please, do continue."

Pascal blinked a moment. "She does? Well then, less trouble for you, I think. No demands at all?"

"She contacted me to ask about Jeanne a few months ago, but otherwise we have no contact."

"How many?"

It was as if a play had ground to a halt with one of the actors going off script. Pascal paused a moment, his flow of conversation broken, before giving him his attention. Louis was simply watching him without even turning his head. Both reacted, adapting to bringing a third into the conversation.

Domhnall regretted asking immediately.

"I'm sorry?"

"How long ago did she contact you?"

Louis' eyes unfocused slightly as he looked something up - probably checking his Device's calendar. Not immediately clear what that would be; nothing around his neck or on his wrists. Probably in a pocket somewhere.

"14 weeks ago, in Meurta." He clarified. The 5th month of the Caglican calender year.

Domhnall nodded his thanks, made a mental note of it himself via Diarmuid, then quietly hoped neither of them would notice him again. This whole episode reeked of trouble.

Unfortunately, Delgado didn't seem to be obliging.

"You two are the Ispettore leading her investigation, correct?"

The man was watching them now, seeming to pay full attention for the first time in the entire conversation.

"Yes, we are."

Delgado looked across at Pascal.

"I assume we have confidentiality?"

Pascal nodded.

Louis continued, turning back to the Ispettore. "If you have any questions, I'll answer to the best of my ability. I have access to contacts of my own as well; we can see what we find."

Domh shifted uncomfortably. Freiderike, to her credit, kept as stoic as ever. "Thank you, Signor."

"Louis."

Politely, Freiderike nodded.

Hunching over the table slightly, Delgado picked up his glass. The sparkling wine within was a rich, royal blue - Valezian fare, Domhnall realised suddenly, then kicked himself for not spotting it sooner. It twinkled and shone in the light as Veneti's uncle twirled it gently in his hand.

Even Pascal seemed to be a little thrown.

"Renza Veneti is a stranger to me," Louis spoke up, prompted by nothing, "but she is still my sister's legacy. Ciardo and myself have an understanding that shall not be breached. As her uncle, I wish to help you, but as a Delgado, I cannot."

Those last words seemed more directed at Rice than anyone else. The old man frowned faintly.

"Why?" Pinici asked.

Louis sighed wearily. "Because to the Delgado family, she is a disgrace. My sister is a disgrace."

All at once, the man seemed infinitely tired. As if the face he had put on for Pascal had been dropped aside. Not looking at anyone, simply staring into the little piece of Valezorro that had crept inside this Castillan mansion.

"To understand the Venetis, you must understand this. Nothing in this was planned. Ciardo, when we met, was a good man. The dashing sort; even a comedian. And... a technician. One of our hired staff. Nothing more. My sister..."

He sighed.

"To be honest, I do not understand it myself. But it happened, and now things are as they are. I liked him personally, but Jeanne..."

He swirled.

"The first I knew of their relationship was her throwing up into the toilet with morning sickness. It came out to the rest of the family at much the same time. It was... foolish. That whole thing was a complete comedy of errors. My sister dishonoured, Ciardo disbarred. It should never have happened."

Silence fell across the table.

"So in short," Pinici observed quietly, "You consider Renza Veneti a mistake?"

Delgado looked him straight in the eye.

"They were idiots, Ispettore. They fell too much in love and blinded themselves to the consequences. Now, my sister is dead and Veneti is just some drunk on the docks."

He set the glass down, wearily.

"Of course she was a mistake."

* * *

A flurry of white pixels filled the air as Renza crashed through a Daemon and charged out through the other side. At least beyond their Barriers, the Daemons struggled to phase through walls. The miasma helped of course, subverting natural law until there was enough of it to discard them completely.

Too little too late to save the one she'd just chopped in half.

A flurry of lances and she dived, down an alley formed by two warehouses side by side. A long, thin, overhung artery that should have been a killing ground had it been anyone else.

She was skidding out the other side in barely a matter of seconds, using an axe as an improvised brake. Still moving at speed she leapt, hitting and bounding off the opposite wall to swing by an axe head off a power coupler up onto the roofs of the warehouses she'd just passed between.

One down. Five to go? Daemons being both identical and perfectly capable of walking through walls, miscounting and losing track was dangerously, dangerously easy.

Stay high, pick your targets. Only dive down to engage. That's what seemed to work best. _And never drop your guard until the Miasma fades._

Her leg twinged. This running around wasn't doing it any good.

There. Moving between the ironwork stumps of a pair of cranes long since pulled down. Were there any more around? Couldn't see. Where were the civillians? Didn't matter; they weren't _there_.

Snap decision. Renza dived. Initiative was vital in these fights.

She bounded off the lip of the roof like a rocket, crashing into the frames at the opposite side of the dock in less than a second, crashing up great sprays of pixels, water droplets and twisted chunks of iron.

Two dead.

Instinct threw her through the crater as a lattice of laserlight screamed behind her. Ambush again, probably. Beneath the dock was a maze of dust and concrete supports plunging into the unnaturally flat mirror of the ocean. When the debris hit it, it fractured like glass.

Miasma for you.

Renza rebounded off it, the sunlight through the gaping hole she'd punched through the deck reflecting and diffusing into the dank environment. Laser fire dogged her, themselves reflecting and scattering off from the mirror in waves, filling the space that had never seen light for centuries with bright, scathing light as the entire deck seemed to tear up and away, cutting off from the mirror like a model being pulled from its mount.

The Daemons were still shooting her even through the deck, tracking her position with eerie accuracy. But that was fine. Even with the scatter, the barrages of lasers was letting her track _them_ too.

She charged, crashing up through the deck and bursting through an empty office, sailing out into the pure Valezian sun, the head and shredded top half of a Daemon already dissipating behind her.

Three dead.

She sailed straight, wind breezing against her, flying across the decks in a gentle ballistic curve with contrails of dust and rubble trailing leisurely behind.

The roof shook hard when she slammed into it, the metal sheeting denting under her feet. Three dead. That should be half. Not enough to ambush or mob her; she should be able to keep them divided now and pick the stragglers off with relative ease. Good thing too, between the bursts of speed and ensuring that she, herself, did not splatter onto the concrete when she charged, pulling those sort of moves took more of a toll on her gem than you'd think.

With the scene relatively clear, she slid the gem out of its perch - the egg-sized stone slipping out easily and loosely into her hands despite all the sheer forces she'd been moving under previously - and quickly checked it.

You could typically tell by feel or intuition, but it was dangerous to rely on that. Visually was best.

The blue gem was darkened faintly. With an attentive eye, you could spot tiny flakes, little specks of blackness, fluttering and swirling within like a crowd of minuscule feathers in a breeze. Around half full, she'd say.

She grimaced. That was always the danger in losing or getting injured; breaking even could be difficult enough.

Watching the skyline for movement, she slipped it back into place like putting on a necklace, then got moving. Three dead, three left. Time to scout around a little; first to find the last three and second to figure out where all the civilians were being held.

She'd have asked Kyubey if it wasn't off trailing the Ispettore.

She frowned. That was irrelevant right now.

She surveyed the scene, looking for a likely hiding place. The holes she'd punched into the deck where like gaping, weeping scars, debris still floating and twisting about under the broken laws of the Miasma, bringing to mind an open wound in Valezorro itself. The skyline was twisted and warped at the boundaries of the space; skyscrapers protruding like ribs, aircraft circling like flies. Far and in the distance, the beating heart of Valezorro sat in the cradle of Commercial, pulsing and shining and vibrant with life by the commands of Governance's cortex and Economic's stomach. The red sun shone upon the red canals that made the lifelines of the city; a glittering, glimmering red.

Renza flinched. It... it hadn't been doing this before, had it? The seas had gone from a flat, reflective mirror to a red-grey fog that stank of mists and Industrial and decay.

The air had changed. This was almost a Barrier. An entirely _different_ Barrier.

The axes in her hands made a reassuring weight. Swallowing, she tore her eyes away from the cityscape and focused on the structures, pale bone-like concrete and sinewy wood.

There. A big, near-featureless building, built like an oversized concrete slab. One of the storage bunkers during the Ocean Crisis, keeping critical supplies safe from the storms. The Daemons needed the civilians to not die in the carnage themselves; a supply bunker would provide the greatest protection.

The roof was solid when leapt off, and the ground solid when she landed on it, but her brain still interpreted it as squishy somewhere. It was a dock. A collection of buildings. Stone slabs and wood and concrete and iron bars. Nothing here was organic. Nothing at all.

But this old dock, built over and filled in when expansion overtook it, had been one of Valezorro's vital organs once. Taking in supplies, bringing in imports, accumulating refugees, pouring in the resources that made a city a city and helped it grow. Overgrown and outdated after the post-crisis growth spurts but still a major stopping point. Now within its borders it served as storage, a part of Valezorro's industrial gut, a transit point and storage point still visited by the vessels of workers and transporters circulating throughout the city.

She shivered. She had to... stop. Stop thinking about it. It was entirely in her head and had nothing at all to do with the solid iron door she was shoving aside as she cut into the fat slab bunker like a butcher cutting into-

_Stop it._

The iron grey door opened like an iron grey door, the squeaking squeal of rusted metal on rough concrete reassuring to the ears. Within was dry and dusty; an entry lobby with the desks unstaffed. All the doors were open in here; the Miasma having crawled into and subverted the security systems completely.

Aware of what it was trying to do, she could see through the Miasma's confusion with ease. Yes, she could see the connection between the Miasma and a disease, and why that would make this a point of festering infection. But it was still very much a very ordinary bunker; just old and dusty, no period details because it was a _bunker_ and had to have been thrown up in a hurry. This wasn't a Barrier. Not yet.

Part of her wondered what the civilians would be seeing.

The lobby was actually part of the thick, thick walls surrounding this place; built by hollowing out the wall; essentially a internal gatehouse. Lit by winking florescent sticklights embedded in the ceiling, the walls drab and covered in posters to remind people of safe lifting technique and the current security procedures. A waiting table and a bunch of half-filled caffi cups filled one of the corners. Just a room, just a building. Just a set of stairs at the side she went through rather than using the main door.

She went high, as she usually did. There would be racks on the other side, she knew; at the end of the day the bunker would be just one high, well stocked room. The civilians, if she was right, would be in the centre, and if she was wrong it wouldn't take long to check, confirm and leave. It the was the Barrier that was worrying her.

Her suspicions were proved right in every respect.

Civilians; a gang of near twenty, dock workers and commercialites and random street-goers alike, clustered in the centre of a cleared space in the middle of the room, the racks and rows of crates pushed out to form circles and patterns on a monochromatically tiled floor. Expected.

Surrounding them, stood the Daemons, tall and proud in wait.

All nine of them.

Not expected. Renza stumbled back as the towering cloaks turned and faced.

And then the light came for her.

* * *

"Don't get me wrong through," he said, noting the change in their expressions, "I only consider _their_ actions a mistake. What they did. When they did it. It just wasn't the proper way of doing things; of course it ended badly. I can hardly blame the girl for her parents' actions; it's a folly. We just have no reason to contact each other."

"What makes you say that?"

Louis sighed. "Part of our agreement. The family does not want to even think about Veneti or Jeanne. If word came out we were in contact, it would be trouble for all three of us."

Domhnall considered.

"Off the record, would you consider it likely a member of your family would attempt to assassinate Veneti?"

Louis frowned, clearly a little surprised. "No, I shouldn't think so. It's not their style. They use softer methods, and would be targeting Ciardo in any case."

Freiderike tilted her head. "Softer methods?"

"He didn't always live in the slumdocks."

Pascal just grunted. Domhnall shifted slightly in his seat. "You seem remarkably candid about this."

Louis sighed. "I have no proof of anything, nor suspicion of who specifically was responsible for it. Most likely, it was simply whispered that Ciardo Veneti had angered the Delgado family, and individual employers kept that in mind."

He shrugged. "It's a legal grey area, hence why they prefer it. I know my family, Ispettore. They know how to avoid pointed fingers."

Pascal had frowned, he noted. Global labour law was another thing that would have to be cleared up for the TSAB to accept Caglica under Administered status. As the Director of the Judiciary, he held partial responsibility for that alongside the Directors of Governance, at least where Valezorro was concerned.

"In the slumdocks, the Venetis can be forgotten. An assassination would be too much trouble; raise too much fuss; induce too much risk. The rest of the family is in Castilla, don't forget."

"Except you." Freiderike stated.

"Except me." Louis agreed, nodding diplomatically. "We the Martice branch - that is, Jeanne and myself - came here to expand our business interests in the first place. I stay to maintain that investment."

The way he said it had an air to it; a false little lilt, as if to hint at the subtext within.

Well, not like he could blame the man, from what he was hearing.

"Enjoying your freedom, Mr Martice?" Domhnall asked.

He smiled. "The distance is agreeable, yes, though pray don't mention it. And please; Louis really is fine. We're discussing personal matters."

Domhnall did not nod. "From our perspective, we are discussing _professional_ matters."

Louis conceded. "Then call me whatever you wish, Ispettore."

He nodded. He preferred the formalities.

"So you're certain the Delgado are not involved in this?"

"Not directly, no. Though I can't deny the possibly of them being an influencing factor."

Domhnall nodded, sending another mental note to Diarmuid.

"How is Renza, may I ask?"

Catching him by surprise with the question, it was Freiderike who answered first.

"She's recovered well; barely in the Serenità too long."

"You couldn't check yourself?" Domhnall queried, having finished the note. "You should have access rights as her mother's sibling."

"But such things would go on records," he replied sadly "and someone would take notice."

"It's funny, you know? I hardly know the girl, but I still feel a little proud. If the circumstances had been different, things could have gone so much better."

"You got her into the Basso Trari, didn't you?" Pascal asked.

Louis just smiled. "Actually, I didn't. That girl is a true child of the Saint."

Eyebrows raised across one half of the table.

The glass swirled in his hand once again, before he finally raised it. "For the same reason I cannot check on her in hospital, I cannot help her in her life. But even so, my sister still shines through. She made the Saints all on her own merit, with barely a mage rank to her name. She's a true Delgado at heart!"

He laughed, almost proud. "So you see, Ispettore? There's no need for me to help Renza Veneti."

"She doesn't need it."

* * *

She dodged. Somehow. Dodged. Ran. The light chewed into the walls. Walls would slow them down. Ran out, ran through the lobby, slashed through the doors, out into the open air of Valezorro, that faintly charred, faintly oily smell the city seemed to breathe. The lights cut like surgeon tools, slicing and incising through the weary concrete flesh of the bunker.

Outside, three Daemons sat, preaching a dark, bassy drone from individual rooftops. The ones from before. Which meant they weren't any of the ones that been in there. Ahah. Haha.

She was going to die. Walls collapsed behind her.

Something snapped. Summoned at her call, a giant gleaming zweihander crashed up through the deck, the red, gaseous sea spewing up with it in a colossal bout of decaying liquids. Banishing it with a wave of her arm, the zweihander launched itself through the lobbyway from whence she came, a ten-ton collision of metal and rebar tearing through the walls with greater force than any storm or car accident.

Renza hadn't stopped to watch. She was running. Running. Had to run. This was too many and she _didn't want to die here._

Her gem tugged at her, icy cold on her spine. She couldn't run.

Desperately, she circled around the dock, dancing the rooftops at insane speed as a hail of light tore after her. First one? Second one? Couldn't remember. The hole in the dock. She landed in a crash, rolling and tumbling and somehow snatching the fallen cube in passing before launching with an almighty kick into the bone-hard concrete into an uncontrolled spin, flying across the open ground of the filled-in docks to burst through the roof of a warehouse in a hail of torn metal skin and hairs of ironwork.

Rolling to her feet, she slammed the cube against the back of her neck so hard it nearly toppled her. Her aching limbs lightened in a brief respite, a few brief moments of weightlessness, before the block of malevolence started feeling truly dangerous. She removed it quickly and made to toss it to-

-Oh. Right. _Kyubey wasn't here._

The first lance of light punched into the building. She just threw it as hard as she could.

By the second, she was already outside. Where had the other ones been? When she crashed back up and... between two the warehouses.

Somewhere.

She had to run twelve was too many but if she didn't get the cubes she would barely have enough to fight properly the next time - Kyubey could collect them usually but if left with the Daemons they would just spawn back again and that _wouldn't help any_ why hadn't she contacted Kyubey why-

For a moment, she wondered how exactly she was supposed to do that. It wasn't like the creature had a Device or anything.

" _Kyubey! Kyubey?!"_

Nothing for it. She broadcasted desperately. The rooftops pounded and rang beneath her feet. From the burst pustule of the demolished supply bunker more lances of light cried out at her, as a throng of sickly white Daemons, five or six strong, emerged from the wound. She hadn't even killed them all.

" _Kyubey? **Kyubey!** "_

The small office building she'd exploded out of from underneath the docks was a slumped, sagging corpse of a structure, iron supports bent out like broken bones with the old flakboard walls crumpled and torn away. Broken desks and chairs and storage units - the typical detrius of an office - had spilled out all across the scene like splatter from a gunshot wound. It was carnage; an utter mess and she was looking for a little black object barely the size of a cartridge in here by the Saint's Mercy _how_ -

Utterly improbably, it was right by her feet where she landed. It... that hadn't been conscious at all.

Light flashed for her. She kicked it into her palm and ran, as the lasers tore into the husk of the office like a pack of angry wolves.

She held the cube against her gem as she fled, mid-flight.

" _Kyubey?"_

Find the third. Run. That was the entirety of the plan. Where had she killed it again one of-

" _What is it?"_

Calm. Unhurried. Just an odd, artificial lilt of curiosity. Kyubey had responded. She turned mid-flight to look down the direction-

The distraction very nearly killed her.

Managing to fling an axe in the way at the last moment, catching the light in her eye out of sheer dumb luck, the bolt deflected rather than cutting her head off. An angry line of fire tore across her back, sending her flight into an uncontrolled freewheel.

The sky and Valezorro inverted. Flipped. Inverted again. Images passed by like a blur; a blot of red, genuine blood trailing out behind her; the angry black cube flying far out of her hand; Roche falling into the canals; a rush of concrete and wood; the dense, blackening thud of impact as dust scattered in impossible swirls; the sky, oddly brilliant, for a weightless moment.

" _Do you require assistance?"_

The ocean, rich and red, rising up beneath her.

She sank.


	5. Tailspin

The cramped little room was cold, dusty and held that faint, metallic tint of rain, but they'd hidden it under the smell of an old perfume. Colourful tassels clinked in the gentle breeze through the single viewslit, as a weather-beaten city lived its life outside under the dying light of evening.

"I'll have to head back soon." Renza noted, watching out the window. Heat still seeped into her fingers from the warm cup in her hands though; she didn't want to leave just yet.

"Before your father gets back?"

She nodded. Tea and the scent of roses wafted under her nose. Always earned a smile.

Her companion chuckled softly. "He does work hard, doesn't he?"

The taste was bitter, but then they didn't have any sugar. She sipped. "Always."

The box-hole fell into an easy silence, just the wind, the birds and the muffled noises of Valezorro at dusk. Renza drank her tea whilst her companion fiddled with the collection of trinkets scattered around them. Backwards or forwards, that clock still wouldn't wind. Between them, two lively lights, shaped like gems, lay on the rags and lit the room with gentle, soothing glows.

"You know," the other girl said, bathed in yellow, "I'll probably need to move out soon."

Renza tilted her head, bathed in blue. "Oh?"

She nodded, looking about the room with a critical eye beneath that ridiculously floppy hat. "They're gonna do a sweep of this place soon, hears I. Structural inspection. Happens once a year."

She felt a chill. "What about your things?"

The girl waved her off. "Aah, I'll just have to stash 'em someplace else for a while. Not a worry."

Her gaze raised to the ceiling, making her grimace. The tassels winked in the light. " _Those'_ ll be a pain though."

They'd hung them on hooks they'd hammered into the ceiling.

Her companion rose, one hand reaching up.

"Maybe we can pull 'em down..."

" _No!_ "

Her friend looked down in surprise. She had to fight to keep her tea from spilling.

"I-I'd like to leave them..." Renza stammered quickly, getting her cup under control.

"...Alright." The other woman said, huddling back down in her corner. The tea was probably cold now. The cups were as tacky as usual; all plastic and garish.

The silence felt stifling. Wrong. Was there something missing? What else was there to say?

"U-Um..." She fiddled with her impractical sleeves. "...How long will you need to leave?"

The other girl blinked, finishing her drink, not having bothered to reheat it. "Just a few days."

"Do you have a place to stay?"

The other girl scratched her cheek, glossy black bangs swaying. "Not really."

Encouraged, she leaned forward. "- _Allora!_ Stay at my place!"

The girl cocked her head. " _¿En serio?_ "

Renza nodded seriously, setting her cup down. _"En rigor._ And my father would like you. A sleepover, even!"

Her friend stared incredulously for a second, before breaking into laughter, one hand to her mouth. " _Si!_ _Si_ , wouldn't that be a sight! Me, sleepin' with a princess!"

Renza giggled and turned back to the window, folding her arms over the watchstep. You could see the moon from here, just creeping on the horizon; big, silent and silver. Below, the lights of Valezorro bathed the city in white.

"It's an agreement, then."

Arms enwrapped her as the other girl draped over her shoulders, a familiar, comforting weight, her chin resting against the side of her head and following her gaze out as the sun set before them, the golden light blinking out below the waterline.

"But you know..." Roche said, her voice aching and tired.

Something was leaking down her back. Pooling in the folds of her costume, pouring down the front of her dress. Something cold, thicker than water and very, very red.

Roche's arms were limp around her neck, her body a dead weight on her back. The chin resting ahead her head was slick and wet; matted hair hung in her eyes, greasy and muddied with the stink of rancid fish and rotting canals.

Her eyes, of course, were lifeless and dull as she whispered sadly in her ear.

"...We can't do that anymore."

* * *

Renza resurfaced in her blankets with a shiver, and then the pain crashed in.

She didn't scream; just quivered, teeth clenched, until it abated. Her ring glowed a dark, glossy blue on her finger.

It... didn't really go away. She just managed to suppress it. Her back felt stiff as a board, like a molten iron rod had taken the place of her spine and by the Kaiser's the _itching_ -

By what mercy she had even been able to sleep in the first place... Renza didn't want to think about it. A collapse from exhaustion seemed most likely. Her left knee had mostly degraded into a swollen, angry red mass, just to make matters worse. _That_ was hidden under the blankets, at least. She'd reset it once she'd dragged herself out of the canals but...

Forcing herself to act before she could think about what she'd find, Renza lifted the sheet.

It didn't look... well, it wasn't _as bad_. The swelling had gone down, leaving a sickly muddle of purples and blues in its wake. It moved when she tried to move it. Previously, she'd had to limp cold and stiff all the way home, her leg barely more than an icy weight that stabbed pains into her hip at the slightest pressure.

Five hours.

Five hours of having to swim with three limbs, having to drag herself onto land, having to limp, having to _walk_ with her spine on fire and her leg a bleeding rock, desperately avoiding the crowds with nothing but a hastily reconfigured Jacket to conceal her injuries...

How she'd survived that Barrier, she honestly couldn't say. Sitting in front of her ring hand, the little Kyubey watched neutrally, its tail a-swishing. The ring on her finger gleamed, a soft, gentle blue light undulating like the bottom of the ocean. For a moment, both stayed that way; each watching the other; blue eyes watching red.

Had it been waiting there, or did it just arrive and she simply hadn't noticed?

" _You should have contacted me."_ It stated without preamble.

"You weren't there."

" _You should have called, like you did at the end."_

"You were out of range, weren't you? The villa was too far from there."

" _One of us would have close enough. It's standard practice."_

...Oh, right. There was more than one of them running around, wasn't there. Always was. Roche had talked about it; they just found grouping 'inefficient' or something...

Renza buried her head in her blankets. In the quiet of the bola, her father's hammock swung faintly in the breeze. He hadn't come home tonight either.

Maybe that was fortunate.

"...Well?"

" _Well what?_ "

"What did the Ispettore want with Louis?"

The Incubator did not shrug. " _They asked him questions about your parentage. Their case on you has not been dropped_."

...Of course it hadn't. She rolled, burying her head deeper into the rolled blanket that served as her headrest, blocking out the bola and blocking out Kyubey, leaving only the sounds of the sea.

"...So what do we do?" She asked eventually.

" _Their continued investigation is curious."_ the Incubator replied immediately, as if there had been no break in the conversation, its telepathic voice unmuffled by cloth, _"It defies our statistical modelling; an ulterior motive may be involved. We will continue to observe, but can offer no recommendations."_

Typical.

"And the Subcontractor?"

" _We asked her to hasten. Weather conditions seem likely to interfere with cross-city travel."_

"Can't she use the teleport network?"

" _She is listed as a missing person."_

...Oh. "So how long?"

" _Two to three days, barring complications. Accounting complications, potentially two weeks."_

Renza blinked into the folds. "...We won't last two weeks."

" _Hence, I asked her to hasten."_

Again, no urgency, sympathy or concern. It had simply been something the Kyubey had done as the best response to the situation. Nothing new.

...Renza nodded in her blankets. With the conversation dead, she let her soul gem reform into its traditional shape; from the ring on her finger, exploding into motes of blue light to recondense into a dim, blue-black egg.

Some light remained, gleaming through the darkness in waves, as if the sun were being held at the bottom of the ocean. Almost completely overtaken. Just looking at it made her feel faintly sick.

"...Kyubey, have you still not found anyone else?"

" _It is the same as before. I have three with potential, but none of them are close enough to contract."_

Confidentiality meant it wouldn't tell her the names, especially if it could interfere. Instead, she just asked the same old question:

"When will they?"

" _We cannot say."_ The Kyubey lowered its head sadly, only to raise it again with a swish of its tail, in what might have been pride. _"But, when their time comes, we will be there."_

A promise made easily, as if it were a task it had performed a thousand times before. It probably had, she reflected.

What a thing to know. She looked it in the eyes; ruby red and watching without judgement, as its tail flicked idly from side to side. Something that had seen a thousand girls fall in battle. Something that had called a thousand girls to do it. The granter of a thousand wishes. The death of a thousand people. The only thing responsible for keeping the Daemons in check.

"...Like you were for me?"

" _We would assume so._ "

...Well, it _would_ have to say that, wouldn't it.

She snorted and turned over onto her back, despite the shooting pains, trying to shuffle into a position her wounds would vaguely accept as comfortable. Overhead, pans and sacks hung from the ceiling in a low-level clatter with the morning breeze.

"...If I die, who will protect this city?"

" _Someone will always contract."_ The Incubator told her with certainty. _"It is the way of things."_

Little consolation.

" _What will you do now?"_

No point replying. Sunlight crept up through the bola's windows, bright red and orange. She staggered up to meet it.

* * *

"You okay, Ren?"

Samara was watching her. Renza smiled, the wind catching at her wet hair as the comune powered through the canals, the streets rising high on either side.

"I'm fine."

* * *

"Are you alright?"

Something had pulled in her spine when Odette pulled her up at the Water Gate. The knight cadet had caught the flinch.

"I'm alright." She told her, finishing the step.

* * *

**[ _Mille_ Veneti, you have a recorded absence from the afternoon classes of the previous day.]**

She bowed slightly to la Sorella's Device left on the desk, mindful of the twinge in her leg, as its owner worked on some mental interface - probably marking something or taking register - only sparing her a look as she came in.

"My apologies. I had a meeting with the Judicial Ispettore and was recommended to take the afternoon off on account of injury."

La Sorella gave her leg a sympathetic glance then waved her through.

"Notify the administrators next time."

She bowed again. "I will. My apologies."

* * *

And thus proceeded their ordinary school day.

* * *

After their meeting with Louis Delgado, Pascal had them return to the Polizern in his private vehicle; a large, bulbous ex-military carrier and a genuine VTOL. With the bay and rigs intended for drop troops converted over to passenger carriage, Domhnall and Freiderike found themselves in what looked like it was trying to be a small meeting room crammed and compressed into a heavily armoured closet. Where everything was bolted down and all the seats still had crash straps and rigging.

"I need you two to keep an eye on the Veneti girl." Pascal stated simply, just about audible over the droning engines; his own Device handling the piloting and navigation as further insurance of privacy.

He'd arrived with a pilot, of course, but now that person was off flying the Ispettore's own barca back to the docks. Being in a military flier, Domh had expected them to reach the Polizern first, but Pascal seemed content for the flight to take its time.

All in all, it seemed to add up to one very secretive conversation. Only short of a miracle (or TSAB level equipment) would anyone else be able to intercept anything Pascal wanted to say.

"Can we ask why, signor?" Domhnall replied. Evidently, absolutely nothing about this was meant to be on any books. To say alarm bells were ringing would be an understatement.

"It is as a favour to Mr. Martice." Pascal was blunt; businesslike. None of his usual smiles or false charm. "The man is a considerable asset to the Valezzoro and Castillan Governances."

...Oh. Wait, no, he got what was happening here.

"He is assisting you with investigations into the Delgado family, isn't he."

Pascal didn't bother to deny it; just nodded. "I'm sure, to Ispettore such as yourselves, there is no need for me to explain why."

As a team, Domhnall and Freiderike focused primarily on 'low level' cases; murders, smuggling and such - the type that left direct physical and forensic evidence Diamuid was specialised to search out with its drone complements and various tapping / analysis spells. Economic and political investigations were neither their forte, but yes, they understood the meaning.

For Caglica to rise up into a modern state, and be accepted as Administered within the TSAB and wider dimensional space - with all the sorely needed treaty obligations for the TSAB to uphold that implied - it had to modernise. Modernisation meant reform. And to reform would be to undermine the imbalanced power structures that made families like the Delgado the Delgado. When the waters rose up in the Ocean crisis, not all the rich and powerful fled, and those remaining had served as key cornerstones and funding in the rebuilding efforts just as much as the Saint Church. And whilst Governance had grown out from that into its own separate body - as per TSAB law - many objected to the 'uppity-ness' of their wayward child, and would prefer to see it reigned in, their roots digging deep.

To bring Caglica forward into the modern era, despite its beleaguered past, this power had to be broken.

And Louis Martice di Delgado, he realised suddenly, had every reason to assist in that.

Pascal shifted slightly in his chair / crash seating.

"Officially, we are doing nothing. 'Unofficially', it is interference at Mr Martice's request. The Judiciary _must_ appear corrupt. We _must_ appear as if we are playing petty little power games; for influence and money. The better we play that role, the more the Delgado will think us toothless and usable, and the better the cases we can bring against them with the assistance of the TSAB Enforcers."

Domhnall swallowed. A sting against the largest powerhouse in both Valezorro and Castilla. This really, really wasn't his field. "I see, signor."

"Why us, signor?"

That would be Freiderike asking. By the sounds of it, she had a pretty good guess the same as he did, but neither of them liked the answers.

"Because you're both professional, and neither of you have ties to any outside groups."

...Or having their guesses confirmed.

 _Which would imply the more 'qualified' sections of the Judiciary do not fully meet those criteria_... Domhnall observed warily. It wasn't cynicism when it was coming from the Director of the Judiciary itself.

Still, it made sense. As a refugee from Chaoim, he had neither links nor interests coinciding with anyone from Castilla, nor with the Valezi and the Tosca. Freiderike, likewise; with her background she had little reason to love the Tosca, nor any reason to be affiliated to the Delgado. No ties even to the Saint Church; normally considered a bad thing (especially for a Belkan; their local cultural image varied between holy saints, their attendants and the violent thugs who'd invaded Caglica and started the Ocean Crisis in the first place), but then _every_ group had some ties to or in the Church, making putting trust in the organisation a bit like putting water in a rusty sieve.

Most likely, some Intelligent Device somewhere with access to the Polizern's databases and backgrounds - probably Pascal's own - had flagged them up as the best choice here. Whether their assignment to the case with Ciardo's daughter (which _was_ in their field of qualification) had contributed was anyone's guess, but Domh hedged his on 'probably'.

As for Pascal's intentions... well. The Judiciary _was_ corrupt, to a degree outside of his control. The old man's solution being to play into that role whilst cutting away at the source of it? Seemed likely. Caglica was tipping, that much anyone knew; having recovered from the Ocean Crisis, more or less, the task now was to try and catch up with the rest of Dimensional Space and figure out its place in it.

To linger as an Allied World, attached but not beholden to the TSAB and its systems of representation; to take advantage of that position and, for some, become the land of do-as-you-please. To go the way of Riega, Canti or, Kaisers forbid, Schzenais.

Or to step up fully as an Administered World, uniting with the wider Dimensional Sea and finally putting its beleaguered past behind it. For Caglica to come into its own.

...Admittedly, he felt somewhat biased in certain regards there.

"What do you need of us, signor?"

Pascal inclined his head. "As you were. Continue your investigation. It's obvious there's something up there, and what we're getting from our informants indicates the Tosca is moving for whatever reason. They've been scooping up Myedoan casters left and right amongst the Valezi population for months now; Ciardo fits the target profile."

Freiderike grimaced. "So, blackmail then?"

Pascal snorted. "Would it be anything new?"

Domhnall had to sigh. From the Tosca? No. No it would not. And everyone _always_ went for Myedoans...

"They're arming up again, aren't they?"

"As usual." The Director wasn't even trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

A Myedoan caster, depending on a number of factors (Device quality, personal experience, linker core strength and so on) could, on a good day, pump out roughly 2 or 3 basic Armed Devices or several crateloads of uncharged cartridges for the black market, or for whoever held their chain. In the case of Ciardo Veneti, that work potential went into his shipbuilding job; him quitting would be a major red flag. Something the Judiciary had used to great effect in the past, but the mafias now were well aware of; if he'd gained the shipbuilding position with the Tosca's sympathy - as seemed likely, given the Delgado's blacklisting - they could simply move him to a non-casting position in the company and the posting would mean nothing at all. Though it did mark the shipbuilders as a probable front.

"We're almost there." Pascal stated, breaking his reverie as the old man's Device emitted a soft little 'ping' from wherever it was he was keeping it. The creaky engines of the old VTOL switched to a higher tone; controlled descent. "Not a word of this to anyone, you understand? Make sure someone sees you on the way out. Go kick the idiot hive."

They nodded. "Of course, signor."

Then the plane hitched, and the side doors rolled back to reveal the bright lights of the Polizern's hanger bay, the rest of the old VTOL fleet in evidence.

And Rice Pascal was all smiles, shaking their hands and patting them on the back, all gentile, old and smarming.

They'd exchanged a glance as he left, and headed for the barca docks without a word.

* * *

That had been yesterday. They hadn't returned to the Polizern since.

Freiderike had picked him up outside his flat; one room in the prefab towerblocks hastily thrown up by the Church and TSAB in the ironic but expected immediate post-Ocean Crisis flood of refugees. Fred had a place similar... somewhere, as he recalled. Off on the other side of town. Whatever it was, she could evidently get away with parking a Judicial barca on top of it overnight without any complaints. Or had just hidden it somewhere.

A cold morning, but nothing their Jackets couldn't keep out. Magic being magic, their uniforms each where as neat as neat could be; the telling hints lay in entangled bed-head, bleary eyes and in Domh's case a fuzzy shadow on his chin. He hadn't looked in a mirror yet, but he had a distinct suspicion they looked less than reputable at this moment.

The caffi had already gone cold, too...

"So?" He asked, watching out over the skyline. The Trari from their position was half visible by a corner, the rest cut off by one of the towers of the Economic district. "What's our best guess?"

"It wasn't an assassination attempt." Freiderike was tapping her glove Device against her chin. "Explains a lot."

He nodded. It... well, did. And all that time they'd spent trying to work that out, too...

"No ransom against the Delgado; Kaisers, if the Tosca'd killed her they'd be doing the Castillans a favour."

Which made it as likely as the ice sheets refreezing over. He nodded.

"The Cosa maybe?"

Fred snorted. "What for? They wouldn't touch her unless the Delgado asked them to, Venetis don't have enough money for the Cosa to be interested and lets face it; if they _were_ gunning for her it's pretty sure she'd be dead by now."

 _That_ was certainly true. For a girl being hunted down - outright attacked even - over her ancestry... the Veneti girl just never seemed to fit the mould. It was like she was determined _not_ to try and get help, where any sane individual would be running for the first offered bunker...

But that was just one slum-dock girl for you. More importantly-

"Ciardo Veneti." He muttered. That was the piece the Tosca were trying to play here. The man's bola would be off in the distance... somewhere but the shipbuilders was easy enough to spot. The Industrial District was hard to miss.

She nodded. "No attacks since... fair bet they've got him."

He snorted. _"Cac."_

Freiderike gave him an odd look. Oh, right, most people didn't swear in Chaoimhín. Huh. He thought Fred would have heard that by now.

"Doesn't matter." ...Now he just felt old.

She shrugged. "So? Now what? We don't exactly have any evidence. Yet."

Domhnall frowned, looking up at the clouds. "I'm not sure if we should find some."

That got a pause. Freiderike was watching him carefully now; half a frown, half an expectation.

"...What do you mean."

His frown deepened. In his hands, the cooling and increasingly stale blend of cheap ground caffi beans wafted up in the cold morning air.

"Say we find evidence of Ciardo joining the Tosca, even if he's coerced. What do you think the Delgados - the main branch - will do with that information?"

Freiderike grimaced.

"What's the alternative? Ignore it? It's obvious what's happening here."

"We _are_ supposed to be playing the corrupt cops." He pointed out.

Now it was her turn to scowl. "That doesn't mean we _should be_ ones! Besides, how would the main branch react to Martice 'protecting' the Venetis if this gets out?"

Question rhetorical. And a good point, besides. Domhnall sighed.

Steam and clouds passed them by, as the morning winds played their tune.

...They really were stuck on that one.

Freiderike leaned back against the railing, arms folded. "Not our call."

He nodded, relieved. "Not our call."

Luckily, the Director would be awake by now...

"Diarmuid?"

[ **Sea, mo Rí?** ]

"Book us a meeting."

* * *

" _-starting on the works of Ebald von Korsk, with "_ Des Sankt Kaisers erste Legende" _, you'll find it under the early Belkan texts folder. As you can probably guess, it covers-"_

* * *

" _-rate of change of velocity being acceleration - delta v over delta time - leads us to the observation delta linear over delta time is equal to the mass times acceleration. From there-"_

* * *

"- _Renza!_ "

She jumped, wincing. In her spine, something shifted that almost certainly shouldn't.

Samara frowned, fingers still poised to snap in front of her face. "...You've been out of it all day!"

She swallowed, buying a moment's time to subdue the pain in her back. Around them, the cafeteria bustled and hustled as usual; the rattle of plates, scrapes of chairs, the wafting smells of food in the air; not to mention the general laughter and bubble of conversation.

Odette and Samara had also made decent headways into their meals, whereas Renza's went untouched. Oops.

"I'm fine." She lied, with a hopefully reassuring smile.

Samara sat back, arms folded. "So you keep saying."

Odette frowned, chewing and pointing with her sticks. "Really; are you alright?"

She picked at her meal. One advantage of attending the Trari was the improved diet; a rabbit stew, with fresh vegetables and fried blocks of white bean curd. Pity it couldn't serve as a distraction at that moment. Kaisers, she probably looked guilty enough as it was-

She forced herself to look them in the eyes. Smile. Lie.

"I will be. I fell on my leg this morning."

Odi looked caught between sympathy and wanting to put her hand to her face, but there was obvious suspicion on Samara's face.

"Your Jacket didn't stop it?"

She raised a hand placatingly. "Mine's always been kind of weak..." Which was actually true, too, though with her contract that had stopped mattering so much.

"S-Still..." Odette began, "three days out from hospital, and you've already managed to twist your _other_ leg... what _are_ we going to do with you?"

She froze.

Odi blinked. "...Ren?"

"A-Ahaha!" She laughed her off, spearing one of the bean curds with her sticks, "I hadn't thought of it like that!"

 _She'd noticed_. Mage-Knight cadets for you. Odette and Samara exchanged a subtle glance; she very nearly missed it.

The curd probably tasted great. She just swallowed it down as fast as possible.

"...Please don't mention it to anyone." She whispered.

The next shared glance was distinctly harder to miss. They both leaned forward; Odette still with her hands in her lap like a proper Belkan lady whilst Samara had hers as a prop for her chin, elbows on the table.

"We're here for you." Odette said firmly, keeping her voice low under the cafeteria's bustle.

It took a monumental effort not to wince. Daemons and Puella... not a thing they could help with. Or anyone really, without a contract...

_I suppose I'm going to be lying again..._

Her leg throbbed. She spoke.

"It's actually not that bad. It's just... my father's worrying and... well, you know him;" she said, looking at Samara, "he always worries. It's-"

"If the next words out of your mouth are 'It's not good for him' dear, I shall have to call you an immeasurable hypocrite." Odette interrupted bluntly.

Renza flushed.

Odi sighed, leaning back and folding her arms as - loud and authoritative _in the middle of the canteen_ \- her friend, in an oh so Belkan style, took a complete hammer to her attempts at lying and diverting attention.

"Renza Veneti, you are worrying _us_ ; if your concern is about alarming your father, shouldn't you at least eat something?"

"I-I will! It's just-"

"If you are injured, get it _seen to_ , that it can heal faster. An E-Ranker can hardly heal themselves at a faster rate than that of the school nurse, our own medical students or even, I dare say, their classmate and friend, _whom they know is a Mage-Knight with training in first aid and basic healing._ "

"I-I was going to!"

Odette cracked open one eye. "Including for that injury on your back?"

Wince.

The Belkan sighed. "...And that confirmed it. You've been sitting stiff as a board all day, Ren. Spacing out, not eating. Are you really, completely sure you don't need the hospital?"

"I-I...!"

Seen through. Completely.

She swallowed. "Yes! I'm fine! I'll be alright!"

Neither looked convinced.

"Just..." she lowered her head, begging. "Keep it quiet, would you?"

"What for?" Odette asked - inquiring to the purpose, not why she should agree.

"Please. My peace of mind."

Odette and Samara fell silent, watching their friend watching them after begging to let her injuries be kept a secret. The moment stretched out, like a pulled string growing ever taunter.

Odi nodded to her, and Samara followed her lead.

"...We're still worried about you."

"I know. I'm sorry."

* * *

"Well..." Pascal groused, voice gravelly and stained with bitter humour. "This puts us in an interesting position..."

"I know signor." He responded before he could stop himself. "I'm sorry signor."

Pascal snorted, still musing the images and documents in front of him.

Set on the table between them, lighting the dank basement of the safehouse (sealed, but still under the waterline) an undulating, echo-y purple; Diarmuid rested, projecting their collected case details - or as much of the important and relevant parts as they could fit in the room at once, at any rate.

Domhnall waited in his chair. Freiderike was in a different building entirely, overlooking them and providing overwatch. Unfortunately, the risk of interception (or even detection) of Judiciary traffic in the highly likely event the Old Man of the Judiciary had a tail meant she couldn't risk it to link in on the conversation telepathically; Domhnall was jotting down the important points in shorthand on an entirely mundane, easily destroyed afterwards pad of paper. She'd stated her case on the travel in here.

It was the best in a series of tradeoffs, really; whilst Domhnall could technically provide an even higher degree of locational security via Diarmuid and its drones, together it was far easier to detect their presence than one person on a roof with a few low-level detection and observation spells. Plus, Freiderike outclassed him on this sort of fieldwork; more experience with cases 'in the moment' (and all the observation and management of suspicious individuals that entailed), as opposed to crimes under investigation after the fact. Plus, this meant they could divert all of Diarmuid's power as an Investigative Device to information processing, which would hopefully help them come up with a plan.

Pascal was still quiet. Domh waited silently. The low hum of Diarmuid and the odd sloshing noise of the waves against the walls of the basement (always faintly disorientating when you could tell they were coming from _above_ your head) were the only sounds in the room.

"...If worst comes to worst," Pascal began finally, "Veneti is disposable. If he keeps his head down and doesn't do anything too illegal, the Judiciary doesn't need to move his way. If he does not, and the Tosca start truly throwing tantrums at us, we will have to face him with the consequences of that. Martice will understand."

Domh nodded.

"As the Judiciary, our duty is to uphold the law. It is the responsibility of Governance and the Courts to keep those laws moral. Martice will understand and respect this. It is the exact same hammer that will fall on the Delgados, given sufficient time."

He didn't ask how much time that would be; he knew better. The implications were it wouldn't be long though, in investigative terms. Probably, he guessed, they had enough to take down most of the family already, and were waiting on enough evidence to close the net tight.

"We've started investigations into the shipbuilders company he works at;" he began, "currently we've had nothing to contradict our suspicions it is a front group. Mr Veneti could be converted over to blackmarket production at any time."

At this, Diarmuid obligingly shifted its displays over to their information and case notes on that angle; the Pasodine Shipyards, employment history and monetary accounts; known Tosca members / sympathisers highlighted in blue. The accounts and invoices would take an Evidence Table to properly crunch - Diarmuid was primarily intended for handling physical evidence, not fiscal crime - but already they looked a bit off. Ironically, they were a little too perfect; like they'd expected someone to be looking at them; honest organisations had a tendency to be much more sloppy. Or just never managed to account for everything coming and going in real life with 100% accuracy.

Pascal could see it too, scanning the accounts and the highlighted faces in the registrar and nodding gravely. "That fits the pattern, yes. Depending on how lucky both sides are, and with your evidence from his daughter's case, we should have enough to build a coercion defence."

Though there was an important issue with that: "Would the Delgado allow us to uphold it?"

"We can drag our feet long enough until they are no longer an issue, I should think..."

Well that was certainly promising.

"... _Assuming_ things don't start getting out of hand."

...That was less so.

"Does that seem likely, signor?"

"Bluntly? No. They're definitely intending to make a move."

The observation was calculated, harsh and final, to a worrying degree. He didn't doubt him a second; it wasn't his case, the Old Man would have far more information to hand than he did. So the Tosca had plans. At least the Judiciary would be ready.

Pascal was watching _him_ now; Domhnall kept his face professionally neutral.

"If it comes to a crackdown against the Tosca, Ciardo Veneti will become our enemy, Ispettore. He's part of their infrastructure now. We will _have_ to take him, and hold him under the law."

"I understand, signor."

Pascal nodded. "It's been a pleasure talking with you. You made the right decision. The Judiciary needs more people like you two."

Diarmuid, taking its cue, closed down, plunging the room back into the depths of half-light until their Devices relit.

"Likewise, signor."

* * *

Girl slipped out, girl looked around. Out by one of the Trari's exits on the upper half; part of the central dome and used by the air cadets. There was a secondary access inside for non-fliers - couldn't afford to keep it maintained by A-Rankers after all - but that was staff only and had to be hacked. The roof of a secondary building outside - a storage block built somewhere... recently-ish, but was so boring to look at it _had_ to be modern - made for an easy landing if you set up your Jacket's Barriers right. Easy enough for her, but pretty impressive for an E-Rank.

She watched from the shadow of a support column as the girl slipped up out the aerial access, keeping a hand up to stave away her billowing blue hair. Didn't even second guess the jump, girl just dropped off the ledge onto the storage shed, easy as you please. Almost distracted.

Kinda said everything about her having done this before. What was that about a leg injury again?

"Whatcha doin', kiddo?" She called out, leaving the shadows and making the blue haired girl startle like a kid with someone else's wallet.

Natalie copied the jump, the barriers around her legs flickering a momentary shade of pink as they absorbed the landing. Veneti just stared, keeping her distance on the opposite side of the rooftop.

"Thought I was the only one knew about about that way out, save the little birds." Nats twisted about, one hand keeping the low sun out of her eyes as she sighted the six distant dots flying in tandem off towards the Economic District. The air cadets had left barely a few minutes ago. Always by the same exit. Little birds.

Looking back, Veneti had tightened her stance. Lower head, feet spread with knees faintly bent and ready to spring. Hah, that was almost defensive! And still not saying a word... it was like watching a little street rat try staring down its elders.

Of course, half they time they tried that they could shank you, but Veneti hardly seemed the type.

"Hey, hey, just wanted t'talk, y'know?" She waved her off in what was hopefully a peace-y manner. Didn't want a fight here. Besides, that would be missing the point.

"Are you following me?"

"What?" Nat laughed, "Nah, I was just up here catching some smoke. Good place for it, y'know?"

Veneti's expression clearly indicated she didn't. Natalie frowned.

"... _Cigarros_ , kid." She twirled the little smoking stick in her hand. "Shit, don't you _live_ in the slumdocks?"

Still wary as out, the other girl nodded. Now this was seriously getting stupid; it was like... ugh, how to put her finger on it...

"They've really 'institutionalized' ya, huh? Saints, y'even _talk_ like one." Nat cocked her head with the breeze, crossing the distance at a casual, easy gait as she regarded the girl in front of her. She snorted. What a joke. "Now that's what seems crazy to me. Ain't saying it don't happen, but ya _don't_ then get _them_ sneakin' out the top exits."

She shrugged lightly; keeping herself loose and casual but boxing Veneti in against the open corner of the roof. Below, the courtyards awaited. Waaay too far to drop for an E-Ranker. Not that Veneti seemed to care; girl had guts, she'd give her that. If only she had the _sense_...

"So what's up, kiddo?"

"I'm taking a shortcut."

Half-lie. Nat snorted. "To what, makin' stars?"

Veneti shrugged it off. "It's a new route home."

Ah. Okay that was pretty sensible. "They got you varyin' it, huh?" Might throw the Tosca off her a little bit it was true. Kinda risky way of doing it for an E-Ranker though. Besides, people usually got irritated when people ran about on their rooftops a lot; Veneti just didn't seem the type.

...Speaking of, by that tell - a moment's flash of blankness to her face - Veneti also didn't seem to know what she was talking about. What even-

" _Si_." Renza replied simply.

Natalie stared.

"...You think I'm an idiot, kid?"

The Veneti girl blinked, confusion evident. "No?"

The cigarette went over the side. "Oh come on, yer lyin' out yer arse!"

There wasn't a step back Veneti could take. It actually made Natalie hesitate; stupid people did stupid things, especially when push came to shove. Not a good plan to test out Veneti's limits whilst standing on a ledge; hardly wanted to kill the girl.

So instead, she stepped back herself, and beckoned Veneti to follow her. Her expression didn't brook any argument; no idiot was gonna treat her like an idiot.

Veneti followed warily, circling 'round. Actually smart, just for once.

"Look, kid, you're getting yourself damn tangled and ain't no-one gonna cut you loose. Don't go funny with me."

"I have no idea what you mean."

Kaisers, she really _was_ speaking like a rich girl! Where'd a Valezi slum-docker like her even pick up High Castillan? The Camarr girl just knew Sankt Belkan and Punching Things - kinda admirable - but under what star would you ever find a slumdocker who reacted to their irritation by getting all _formally_ _polite_ on you?.

She laid it plain: "I'm trying to _help you,_ moron."

Veneti stiffened. "With _what?_ "

Okay, so not _that_ polite. Even so. There had to be _limits_ to failing at upholding a lie before someone gave up; only fair before it just got plain insulting. Obviously something was up. The Tosca shits, the Judi, wanderin' round with injuries and stuff...

But what the weird thing was? The really, really weird thing was? Veneti couldn't lie for the Kaiser's life.

And that meant that confusion had to be genuine.

"...Girl, you are crazy." She backed up, backed away. Enough of this shit. "You are so _verdammen_ crazy."

The crazy girl watched her leave. Weirder still the look to her eye; like someone warily watching an enemy. The kind of look that they'd clearly worn before; like they'd accepted it; no surprise, no shock or nothing.

Natalie gave up and returned back to the Trari. Damn her, now she'd lost her smoke.

When she looked over her shoulder, the Veneti girl was already gone.

* * *

She dropped down off from the Trari and into the clutter of buildings that gone up alongside. Storage, mostly.

" _What had_ that _been about?_ " She asked, flustered.

" _She is participating in a misunderstanding._ " The Kyubey on her shoulder responded mentally. " _It bears no relevance to your being a Puella Magi._ "

She transformed in the quiet of an alcove, plucking her gem from its new place on the back of her neck.

" _You're sure?_ "

" _Yes."_

She paused, looking at the little thing.

Deep, dark and cerulean. It was supposed to be lighter than this.

" _I have to go hunting_." She thought.

" _Statistically, yes_." The Kyubey responded, apparently failing to catch the rhetorical nature of her question.

Renza winced and stopped mentally broadcasting. Outside, she had a number of choices in where to go; where to fight.

There was one place, certainly.

She shivered. The dark gem in her hand was like carrying ice.

Odette, Sam, Ciardo... she had to stop them worrying. She had to survive. For that... well. She needed grief cubes.

And that, paradoxically, meant she had to fight.

There wasn't a way out from that trap. Not one she could see.

" _Well_..." she thought, looking out towards the Commercial District with a confidence she didn't feel, " _let's go_."

They already knew the route.

* * *

It was time. Things had gone on long enough.

They weren't important to the Governance, to the TSAB, but they were the voices of the _people_ , and they were all in agreement. In shadowy groups and secret meetings all across the city, things had come to a head.

They were tired, and they were sick.

Sick of being turned away. Sick of being discriminated. A Valezi was poor because he was a Valezi because he was turned down at jobs and schools because what would some backwater runt know? What could some backwater runt do? You couldn't bleed money out of blue hair, so why would anybody try?

Tired of being watched. Tired of being followed, being checked, being tracked; making evil eyes with the Judi boots whenever they were on patrol. Or bored. Money bought the law and the Valezi didn't have money. Weren't allowed it. So the law came down on them. People disappeared. Were made to disappear. Whatever the Judi claimed.

Well, fine. Fuck them all then. They made their own jobs, looked after their own people, and the Jackboots hated them for it. 'Tosca' meant _council_ , but only they seemed to remember that.

Valezorro had seen governments change like the seasons. The Belkans. The Galeans. The Church. The Families. The Priest Kings and their cohorts, all the way back when; before and after Alhazred's fall. But always, the Valezi had been true. Always, the Valezi had been _here._

Even when the waters rose, the Valezi hadn't turned away.

Valezorro was _their_ city. _Their_ birthright.

And it was time that they reminded people of that.

* * *

The Office of the Watch of Valezorro; _L'Ufficio dell'Organismo di Vigilanza_ ; an unassuming floor of an unassuming building, just one of the many blocks of Offices that spired up out of the Governance District.

A café, rich and red, with tall marble columns on the brighter side of the Polincia Boulevard, deep in Economic.

The Polizern Judicia itself, like a great iron slab someone had just dumped in the middle of the disorganised canals, then slapped architecture on top of it to make it look like it fit in despite all the docking bays, defensive hardpoints and not enough windows. Bustling with activity, just as it always was.

Louis Martice di Delgado, stepping off his private barca and into the Court building, the great _Castello_ ; that white, temple-like dome that was Governance's most central pride and joy.

None of these things had that much in common, at that point in time.

Louis stepped back a moment, to ask his driver one last question. It was probably the only thing saved his life.

For the first time in nearly a century, Valezorro shook with the rumble of explosions, and remembered well the sounds of war.

* * *

And this was it.

Under the noise of gulls, under the distant sounds and rumbles of the Commercial District, above the roaring waves of the sea, amongst the eerie silence of the abandoned warehouses, it stood before her.

The entrance to the Daemon Barrier; a shimmering symbol imposed upon the world, a pair of crossed construction cranes swinging giant, stylised meathooks. It the was the Docks Barrier for sure; a glance at her gem confirmed the signal was the same.

Her leg ached. Her back still felt stiff and hard to move. The axe she had ready to slash the doorway open was a cold, heavy weight.

And the gem in her hands felt icy cold. Cerulean blue, like the deep, dark ocean freezing over, flecks of black corruption swirling and flowing like flocks of gulls taken to wing.

Within the Barrier, there would be Daemons, and she would have to fight. She understood this. To fight was to risk her life, to not fight would be to forfeit. Simply by healing, simply by existing, the ticking clock of her gem ticked away, that ever darkening march from a warm sun to a freezing night.

She almost wanted to laugh. That was the sad irony of it, wasn't it? If she didn't fight, she'd die just as surely as she might if she did. What a magnificent catch in the contract.

If you were a Puella Magi, risking your life was the only way to save it. A constant roll of the dice. Fight and win, die trying, or give up, surrender, and fall. Their own quiet little suicide. The sole sum of her options.

She didn't want to die, and so she would have to fight. And win.

And within there, there would be people. More people than before. Maybe they were thinking Vollständigkeit would send a shining hero to save them. Most likely they weren't thinking anything at all. People who, without help, would very certainly be dead. Nothing but food to those droning, pixelated monsters.

But could she win in there?

It would be a Barrier. A world completely suited to them, designed completely to their advantage. Within, the Daemons could phase through anything with ease. She'd be outnumbered, just as she had been before, if not moreso. And they'd be ready. She couldn't take on twelve at once; she didn't even have the power left to fight that many. If her body could even handle it.

You couldn't even call it an ambush any more. She'd be straight up walking into a deathtrap.

Fight and win. In there, she wouldn't win.

Was that wrong? Was that okay? If she went in there she'd just... die. No shrine like Roche. She wouldn't even make it into the canals. Ciardo, Odi, Sam... they'd never know what happened to her.

And Valezorro would be left on its own. When Kyubey finally found a contract, they'd be on their own. A corpse couldn't help anyone. She just be... dead, and what would that achieve? The people inside wouldn't be rescued. The people they went for next wouldn't be rescued either. The Barriers would blossom, free of anyone to trim the weeds, even if they could only manage so much. The people inside... sisters, brothers. People's sons. People's daughters. Fathers and mothers. Only she could try to save them, but she could see no way she'd succeed. They'd be dead whichever she chose.

The axe was a solid cold weight in her grip. One cut, and she'd be inside. Fighting. Rescuing. Falling.

Trying.

The gem in her gem felt infinitely colder, and infinitely heavier.

Renza stood there, axe in one hand, gem in the other, the weight of the world carried inbetween. The calling gulls overhead. The innocent chatter and noise of Commercial down below. The doorway into the Barrier shimmering, its emblem standing defiant and proud.

Renza stood; watching it, weighing it.

And walked away.


	6. A Red Morning / Einmal Eins

_With thanks to Gnarker of the Spacebattles forum, for the German language assistance._

* * *

Sun found Valezorro through foggy clouds of smoke. For once, the Industrial District didn't look so out of place, bedded in amongst the low, lazy ribbons of black soot creeping up into the sky. The distant storm on the horizon just made the vision worse; the remnants of the previous night's violence almost seeming to fuel the thing.

And through all this, Caglica's Sol hung deep and red, its dawn chasing bloody shadows across the walls; shifting and turning through soot and pyre. The sun stained the sky, in turn stained the water, in turn making the canals run red with ... well. It wouldn't last, mercifully; it would turn to it's usual golds and yellows in little more than a half hour once the sun was higher, but for now, a more disturbing start could hardly be asked for.

"Current count is 16 dead, 57 injured minimum, arrests in counting." He read off Diarmuid's mental displays. "Riot suppression is still in effect in three Residential districts, Economic is refusing to leave lockdown status and by all indications, Industrial is going to be shut for business rather than risk allowing bombs get smuggled in by their own workforce. As if anyone would be _that_ stupid."

Freiderike snorted, feet up on their barca's steering handles. "So now the merchant houses have Governance by the fucking throat. Great."

Domhnall watched the sky. "That bad?"

"Heard it from the management aides in the break room. I don't think any of the poor bastards've slept yet. More demands. More security. Less Governance oversight, to enforce said security..."

He hmm'd, keeping an eye on the rooftops. Fred, true to form, had found a neat little roofspace up against an old warehouse half-renovated into flats. Some careful misuse of the barca's external displays and they were just an old, abandoned shell; discarded trash; easily ignored.

Or they would be until they actually started moving again, which would rather quickly give the game away. Or if someone actually recognised the too-modern make of the thing. Still, this particular area off the docks was mostly filled with ex-pat Castillans, bordering on a small resident block held by the Saint Church, which gave them a degree of safety even if the locals started suspecting them.

More than a little of the smoke came from outskirts like these. The Judiciary weren't the Tosca's only targets.

"And the bombs?"

Fred gave him a look. "Give the investigators a chance. Half the structures probably aren't even cleared yet."

...As as investigator himself, he should possibly have expected that.

Domnhall sighed, feeling caught between tired, weary and _old_.

"So what happens now?" He asked.

"General mobilisation orders, by the sounds of things." Freiderike didn't have any more official documents than he did, but she had friends in her old department who would. "Additional units are being brought in on loan from Castilla, though the storm is messing things up."

That earned the skyline an irritated glare. The storm system was still actually quite far out - two or three days, maybe - but with most of Caglica rendered 'flat' by the oceans, the view beyond its borders were clear for miles.

Fred flicked through the latest dossiers, appearing to just be wafting her fingers through mid-air out of the corner of his eye from Domh's perspective. "Any luck with Pasodine?"

He nodded. "It's riddled with Toscas, just not on the face of it. HR outsources to a known front group which we _really_ should have caught earlier, several key members are suspected of involvement," - now probably confirmed, thanks to the Veneti case - "and the word from the Watch is, Veneti was transferred internally two days ago."

...She sighed, fingers stopping. "So he's making weapons now."

"Most likely."

A ring of gold sparked on the horizon, as the rising sun broke between two buildings, the pure sunlight burning away the shadowy reds; even the smoke seeming to wash out in the face of it.

The two Ispettore sat watching it rise, pondering their organisation's inevitable next move and what it would mean.

"... _Scheisse_."

"...Yeah."

* * *

A red morning.

The riots were out now - or so she'd heard - but you could still see a few peals of smoke drifting into the clouds in the distance, between the buildings and rooftops. Far out, most of them, mercifully, but even Governance and Economic had more than one...

Odette shivered. The chatter at the Water Gate seemed unusually subdued this morning, the Sorella unusually alert, and it didn't take much to guess why.

She hadn't seen her mother yet - her office in the Economic District had demanded her presence for obvious reasons, and had done so all through into the morning - but she'd sent a message to confirm she was okay. It was reassuring, of course, but a Belkan factory owner wasn't the sort to be at risk in this situation, and her mother had plenty of security.

The Venetis and the LeBiens, however... they were half- families; both part Castillan. She hadn't inquired on Renza's other half yet, but even with the hair, her ancestry was plain to see if you knew what to look for; Samara was even more obvious. 'Would the Tosca notice?' hardly needed saying. And whether they'd care was written in the smoke she could still see pealing away into the sky, as she tapped her foot against the gate.

The comune was late.

She ground her teeth, and resisted the urge to send a message along. It was stupid, the damn waterboat was just running late and there'd be traffic troubles up and down the canalways right now she didn't need to-

She shuddered, and carefully did not fidget.

_Just show up. Just show up today you self-sacrificing idiot._

"Odette?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin.

Renza was watching her neutrally, having apparently been standing a short distance behind her for... um.

"- _How long have you been there?!_ "

"Not long." Her friend replied quietly. "Are your parents okay?"

...Odette nodded; still staring, propriety be damned.

Her wayward and suspiciously _early_ friend closed her eyes, resting against the gate. "Good. I'm glad."

"...What about yours?"

Renza nodded tiredly, eyes still closed. She looked oddly serene like that, despite the obvious exhaustion, like... like...

Odette grimaced. _Something_ was off here.

"Were you alright?"

Poor girl looked exhausted.

"I'm fine. Please; don't be concerned."

...And oddly polite.

Around them, the small crowd of people waiting to pull up the Saint's Children shifted. Her own rosette Device beeped under her school Jacket.

[ **Der Comun kommt bald an, meine Königin** ]

She jumped, blinking. Renza still hadn't moved; eye's still shut.

"T-Thank you, Holda..."

[ **Nichts zu danken, meine Königin** ]

She stepped forward, Renza following smoothly and silently at her side. She spotted Samara, wide-eyed with relief, standing at the front of the Comune as it pulled into the Gate dock.

And, together, just like every other pair of greeters, they pulled her up and into the Gate, as if things had always been that way.

A red morning.

* * *

"Yer kiddin', right?"

Jacque winced, his weathered old face scrunching up like a paper bag. "Look, chica-"

She didn't let him. Oh hell no. "Those Tosca fucks are goin' round bombing n' burning people and you want me to _go to fucking school?_ "

The guy tossed his cigar end in the water.

" _-It will be_ safer _in fucking school, chica._ "

The ski bobbled in the canal, as Jacque - red flag of Castilla currently hidden; survival came before pride - glared at her; desperate and...

"...Oi, you even sleep last night?" She asked, staring at the dark shades under eyes.

Jacque hissed in frustration. " _No me jodas_ \- of course I have not!"

This little inlet came out between one of the office buildings and a Devicer's workshop; two pedestrian roads down from the Basso Trari; almost certainly one of those 'not planned' waterways formed by the Ocean Crisis back in the somewhere of somewhen; who really cared. Point was, it was out of the main canal traffic and out of the main walker traffic, so that made it nice and snug and secluded.

They were keeping their voices down anyway.

"Look," she ground out between her teeth, "its bad out there, _I get it_ , you think I don't understand? Let me help, _idioto!_ "

" _No_ , chica-"

"-I'm a C-Rank-"

"- _Natalie!_ "

She paused. Guy was picking one hell of time to play stubborn.

Jacque leaned forwards on his handlebars, making sure to look her right in the eyes. Coal met flint, accordingly.

"We're not fighting a fucking war, understand? You think the Tosca are even going to achieve something with all this shit? They're a bunch of racist fucks on a single fucking island. Everyone will come crashing down on top of them and that will be _it_. Just gotta ride it out, don't gotta do anything stupid. _¿Entiendes?_ "

Natalie sighed, leaning back against the wall. "And I 'just gotta ride it out' at school?"

"At a _Church_ school, chica. They won't attack the Church." He snorted. "Though the Church will probably attack them."

She rolled her eyes.

Jacque grinned. "Ey? It's not so bad; at least you'll be learning, _si?_ Because those fucks fucking aren't."

Arms folded, she regarded the guy; this ex-Castillan runaway canal rat who spent half his time trying to decide whether he wanted to smell of cigarettes, engine oil or cheap booze. Her only contact in on the Costa Nostra, in turn her only ticket to food and money and an actual life in this damn place.

...And the man she'd just watched successfully argue her into being a good girl and going to school. Said life wasn't fair.

She huffed. "You're not my dad."

That just made him laugh. "So what? Still good advice, no?"

She sighed, eyeing the route up the workshop wall and across the rooftops to the Trari. Her Jacket reconfigured into her school uniform in a blur of pink light.

Oh well. Time to go to school.

* * *

The whispers were the worst part. Everyone seemed to have a story. Someone missing. Someone hurt. Someone who'd been there.

Renza tried not to listen.

In all the chaos and mayhem, she... she hadn't found anything. All night. She'd been dodging the riots, avoiding the crowds, keeping away from the fires. She'd found traces of Miasma here and there but the Daemons themselves were strangely absent. Or worse, all in Barriers. Two more, other than at the Docks. A disturbing trend to say the least. Twice more she'd had to drop a trail to keep out of the Tosca and Judiciary's way. The _timing_ on all of this was just horrific!

Thus far, her search had been utterly fruitless. Then the sunrise had come and... she hadn't even realised what the hour had been.

_I should... be more tired. Should I? Am I?_

She couldn't tell. There'd been a few sleepless nights in the past, borne from grief; Roche, Jeanne; but would that be the same? Would that compare? Was she tired, or was it her gem? Everything had ached before anyway so...

Actually, why was she even bothering to come to school? She paused, stumbling with her sticks in front of their midday meal. The riots were a perfect excuse to just keep up the search. That had been stupid.

She groaned, letting her head fall on her desk. La Sorella had already taken attendance, of course.

Samara was shaking her shoulder. The motion jerked her awake.

"-Hmm?"

Her friend leaned across, nearly getting black hair in her face. "...Are you okay?"

"Y-Yes... I'm fine." And she was slipping. Damnit. Now she needed to say something- "Just... worried, is all."

She sagged under the weight as Samara enveloped her in a floppy, lazy hug. "He'll be alright. We'll all be alright."

Thoughts juddered, disconnected. It actually took a second to realise who 'he' referred to.

Then the problem slammed home.

"T-Thank you!"

H-Had it really not occurred to her?! Ciardo- shit- _she hadn't come home_ , what would he think, she didn't think she had any messages so-

Odi looked alarmed. "...Ren?"

"I-I'm-"

 _No missed or saved messages_ , her Device reported to her telepathic inquiry; less a 'verbal' response, more a general sense of emptiness, or a blank page.

"-I'm fine, really!"

Samara had withdrawn a little, so she could actually see her face. The concern was plainly writ.

Renza... tried.

"R-Really, I'll be fine! It's just... these past few days..."

Odi had a hand on her shoulder. "You could always take a day out. I'm sure La Sorella would understand."

It was tempting. Incredibly tempting. The lunch hall really was a little empty today; too many empty tables, too many empty chairs. Though, part of her noted, all the Saint's Children seemed to be in attendance, interestingly enough.

...And that was because it was a _Church_ school, wasn't it. Safer for them here. Not the sort of thing Odette would see but La Sorella _definitely_ wouldn't approve of it. _They_ knew who she was related to; it would be right there in her file.

Damn it.

"No it's... I'm better off here."

Though why hadn't Ciardo said anything? Messaged at least? Had he even made it home last night? Was there even a way to find out without revealing she hadn't either-

 _Would_ the Tosca come for him? They might, the Delgado seemed to have covered everything up this time but it couldn't be too hard to find...

She knew she had _some_ Castillan features... and such things were hard to hide...

"Renza...?" Odi shook her shoulder, worried. "You keep spacing out."

She blinked, world refocusing. A half-emptied plate before her. "I- I know. I'm just not that hungry right now."

Odette's hand released, and she let Samara pull her into another comforting hug.

_I'm such a liar..._

* * *

The Polizern Judicia _buzzed._

Craft, fliers, VTOLs of all sizes flocked and swarmed around it; flickering disordered false-rainbow haloes indicative of multi-layered shields caught in the air and the buildings surrounding seemed practically encrusted with landed barcas, swifts and other craft, hanging all off the roofs and sides like limpets.

Today did not promise a good day for the enemies of the Judiciary.

At the eastern corner, a great chunk had torn loose, throwing off the stone façade to expose the metals and blast-resistant polymers beneath. Tellingly though, whilst these protections hadn't been breached, they had been _bulged_... outwards, indicative of an internal explosion of some considerable force.

Just looking at it give him a chill. What was inside would not be pretty.

Quite how the Tosca had managed to smuggle something that powerful inside without being detected was a matter that could only be answered with time and proper investigation. For now, the damage was being repaired; several mages clambering carefully across the outside with multiple binding spells in place to catch them, casting with the characteristic infinity figure of Myedoan spellcasts to repair damage and shore up the structure. The Ispettore like themselves would go in afterwards, with drones and toothcombs. The air had that tell-tale scent of a Dimensional Barrier hidden amongst all the everything-else going on; the dimensional copy serving as a perfect preservation of the immediate post-detonation crime scene.

Two new temporary structures had been thrown up in the Tosca bombings' wake.

One, close by to the work on the damaged east corner, looked primarily like a web of tents; an overflow for the Polizern's medical wings until they could all be confirmed structurally safe. Much like the shield halos, it lit from underneath in a soft, undulating kaleidoscope of colours; medical mages each casting with their own personal hue.

The second was less a 'building', more of a staging area surrounded by red flags. The housings for the Castillan Judiciary here as a force multiplier; crimson and matte black dropships sitting like hawks waiting to fly, perched on the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. Easily the most telling sign of the Judiciary's next intentions.

Fred was skimming them along over the canalways, choked as they were; the air was too thick with craft for hopping to be remotely wise. The reason for the delay was plainly obvious; security was being taken very, _very_ seriously.

Domhnall liked not being shot out the sky by his own organisation, so he had no reason to complain.

Over half an hour, they crawled forward on the waterlanes, watching more birds come in, random dispatch units fly out. Catching the latest reports and joining in on the telepathic network chatter. Things were... well, things were a mess.

The Policlinico Serenità was full, to the surprise of absolutely no-one at all, and word was Louis Delgado was currently in a medical coma. For surgical reasons, not that it was stopping the rest of his family from proverbially foaming at the mouth. The Castillan Judiciars sounded very... eager. Apparently, today, they were going to get very, very well paid...

The Saint Church had deplored the violence, and called for peace and common unity in the face of terror and oppression; a statement which, hopefully unintentionally, could taken a number of ways depending on your point of view. Still, they were sheltering refugees and the newly homeless by the dozen, and picking up the slack from the Policlinico. The Tosca wouldn't attack the Church. They'd have to be insane.

As for what under the Kaisers' good sky those fantatical Valezi were playing at, it was all anyone's guess. A violent sect of a single social group unique to a single city. They had no means to expand beyond Valezorro's borders, and even if they _did_ somehow achieve their dreams of taking the city, under no circumstances would the rest of Caglica - or even the TSAB - ever allow them to keep it.

So, the betting pool went, maybe they _would_ attack the Church. Because they were very clearly insane.

Domhnall snorted.

Eventually, they pulled in and were subjected to a full minute of scans, including handing over their Devices; both Diarmuid and Freiderike's gloves in identical carry-cases. Finally, they were inside the Polizern, able to get moving, and thus able to get completely lost on the way to the briefing room.

"It would have... helped if they'd let us keep our Devices, wouldn't it." Fred muttered a little awkwardly.

"It would, yes." Domhnall nodded, feeling mildly appalled at their own inteptitude. Without access to the Polizern's internal grid - which they needed their Devices as indentification for - they couldn't pull up the internal maps, and so instead they were... well, proving that maybe there _was_ something in all those claims people were getting a little too over-reliant on the things.

It didn't help that the Polizern itself - being originally the seat of Governance before they switched for their own city District - wasn't exactly easy to navigate. Least with as many people as possibly crowding the halls whilst random corridors and stairs cordoned off by cloth and glowing barriers, combined with the general lack of physical signage because everyone was expected to be assisted on that anyway.

Still, they'd eventually managed to beg directions.

The meeting room turned out to be one of the lower hangars. They were supposed to be attached to a Dispatch squad but their usual briefing room was one of the ones closed off.

"Sorry we're late."

The flight leader waved them off wearily. "You're not the last, Ispettore. Take a seat"

Said seats were arranged conically around a bulbous 'catcher' bird; a sort of light, technically unarmed gunship the Dispatch squads used to deploy quickly to incidents in progress. The 'technically' part stemmed from the open side doors and the fact the vast majority of Judicial mages favoured the Mid-Childean style. It didn't really bother with wings as a concession to aerodynamics; it looked like a flying, half-melted brick with a hollowed inside.

Outdated, steered like an uncooperative horse and a knock-off of a centuries old Galean design... and easily the Caglican Judiciary's mainstay. They got barca because they were a Caglican export; everything else and... well, 'everything else' ran into the backwater problem. Something Caglica, again, had managed to put an even more unique spin on than usual.

Still, they flew. Which was a damn sight better than Domhnall and Freiderike's barca could claim to.

_...I should have brought a caff..._

At his left, Freiderike seemed to try and pull up a document overlay, remembered she couldn't without her Device, and subtly put her hand back down in the hopes no-one would notice. Around them, the rest of the Dispatch team - looking slightly dishevelled outside the artificial neatness of their Jackets - could be caught making similar motions. It was lucky the press weren't here or they'd turn this into a comedy routine.

Two more empty chairs. The flight leader's Device - she still had hers? - beeped and eventually she just seemed to give up waiting.

"Alright, we'll have to catch the stragglers up when they arrive... damn the Internal group. Schedule's drunk off its perch of course but words are we fly at midnight."

Her Device flashed, and a holographic map of Valezorro formed up before them, before being overlaid by a rainbow cone spreading out from the Polizern.

"We're in Indigo Group. Smashes and grabs. Key personnel and infrastructure; we're cutting off the head. Emphasis speed and flight mobility. Our list of targets-"

And then they saw why the Director had assigned them to _this_ group...

* * *

She kept a close watch on her friend as the day went by. Renza... after that incident in the morning, just seemed completely withdrawn, shutting down further and further as the day went by. Exhaustion, by her guess, but still...

It had started after the holidays, coming on three months ago by now. Their old, cheerful friend had become suddenly withdrawn; quieter, more reserved and just less... _there_. Little Renza had... well, they'd just thought she was growing up, but then they hadn't heard of about all the visits to the healers.

And worst of all, she wouldn't trust them with _why._

It was obvious something was wrong. It was obvious she needed help; it was like the girl damn well knew it. But at any offer, Renza would turn people away. Even the _Church and Judiciary_ , by what she'd heard. And if it was at the point _they_ got involved, well...

It was... scary, and with yesterdays' events, it seemed it had hit the breaking point.

Odette wouldn't dare claim she understood the politics going around in the bolas, but it had confused Samara just as much. Ciardo had been almost painfully polite the few times they'd met, but she knew they cared about each other. That the Tosca were involved somehow seemed obvious, but...

Everything just seemed to point in different directions; she couldn't make sense of it!

Aaaugh! She wanted to tear at her hair in frustration!

Whatever was happening seemed to have been going on for a while, and then these bombings and riots came in. Related? Maybe? This... this was all outside her depth. Her life was school, societal parties with her parents, etiquette lessons and smashing targets as a mage cadet with a magical polearm. Investigations? Interventions? The Mafias?

It was like the plot of some cheap film, only she was a bit-character stuck on the sidelines and all the possible consequences felt all too real.

So? What could they do? What were their options? Basic tenet of strategy; if the situation's bad, change the situation. Was it a matter of trust? ...No, that didn't make sense. Renza _did_ trust them. She was a trusting person, but hadn't told anyone anything. So... information _withheld_ , then? Blackmail?

Whose secrets was Renza Veneti keeping?

...Odette still couldn't think of anything.

The only thing she felt certain on was they _could not_ do nothing. If they did, things would just keep going on their current track and... she didn't like where she thought that might lead.

 _Someone_ had to do _something._

"Say," she whispered as the Session ended, "Renza?"

Her friend 'hmm?'d, raising a weary head as they passed out through the crowd into the corridor.

Something of a gambit and she didn't _quite_ have parental approval for this but-

"You could always stay with us."

Renza blinked. "-Eh?"

"We've done it before; housing people I mean. Just for a little while, whilst all this blows over."

She watched her face carefully, tracking its shifts. Surprise. Alarm. Confusion?

"I-I- I'd have to ask Ciardo-" An escape. And an obvious one, admittedly.

"But will you think about it?" Odi pressed. "It'd be safer; for both of you, I mean."

"O-Of course!"

It was like she had stage fright or something. Like she knew what she had to say in this situation but was having to remember her lines on the fly. A scripted, guarded response. _Insincere._

Odette frowned, pinning her friend to the spot. Samara, behind her, watched the conversation anxiously.

"Renza-"

"- _Miss Camarr!_ "

The voice cut through their mostly quiet conversation like a battering ram and made Renza jump slightly in alarm. With the greatest force of will, Odette Camarr did not turn around.

Given Renza's reaction to her expression, that was probably a good thing.

_Of all the damn times-!_

"Miss Lovelace," she called back, still refusing to turn even when hearing the other girl storming over, "we were having a private conversation, would you mind?"

"You will face me Miss Camarr!"

Stiffly, Odette turned with the best she could manage of a smile, keeping her fists behind her back to reduce the odds of them finding themselves in Lovelace's face.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

" _Odette-"_ Renza hissed under her breath. Odi hushed her telepathically.

Penne Lovelace drew herself up imperiously, shoulders set... then seemed to freeze, in momentary indecision. Odette rose an eyebrow.

"Miss Camarr!" The girl abruptly started up again. "Have you no sense of propriety? The Saint's Children have enough charity!"

...She stared. _"What?"_

"I mean, letting such a person in is beneath you. You would have the slums before your peers?"

Odette spared a glance over her "peer"'s shoulder. Sure enough, Lovelace's usual sycophants looked just as surprised by this as she was.

"You _were_ listening in." Odette accused, flatly.

Lovelace bristled... and Odette found herself waiting for a denial that never came. Her fist tightened. The twit being a snob wasn't exactly new but being _completely mad_ -

A hand tugging at the back of her Jacket stopped her.

Renza Veneti stepped forward and bowed in perfect Cagliesian style.

"My apologies to you, M'am. No offence nor slight were intended against your family name. Miss Camarr's intent was an expression of hospitality and concern, nothing more."

...Both of them found themselves staring at the girl and the sudden injection of manners into the conversation. At the back, Samara shuffled awkwardly, completely lost as to what was going on and understandably afraid of doing anything that might set everyone off.

Whatever the hell Lovelace was thinking, what Renza said seemed to have knocked it off track, or at least mollified her. That was possible? Could they get her an award?

Odette held off, eyes flicking between them, waiting for an explanation.

"...Well." Lovelace did not stumble; instead inclined her head in a painfully transparent attempt to buy herself time and composure. "Of course, such action is commendable. I merely sought to ensure the sanctity of her family name."

Odette twitched. Sanctity indeed-

" _Don't."_ Renza interrupted telepathically, 'voice' tired and weary. _"Please."_

Grinding her teeth, Odette bowed herself, mirroring Renza's pose. Lovelace returned the gesture, and retreated, socially 'intact' with the last word hers.

The moment hung awkward long even after Lovelace's retreat, before Odette straightened first.

"...Renza, what-"

"Don't ask." Her friend's voice was still tired; any emotion locked away. "Please, don't ask."

Odette could only stand there, staring, as Renza Veneti, exhausted, walked away.

It took her a moment to realise she was walking out the building.

* * *

Well. That had been interesting. Certainly more interesting than anything she'd been expecting out of _this_ day, so far.

So Lovelace was a few cartridges short of an Intelligent Device; amusing, but it didn't feel anything important. Camarr's violent streak she could approve of, even if watching the urge to punch things war with all the crap la Sorella'd shove'd down their throats made her want to laugh. And LeBien had just shied off. Funny; never pegged her for a coward. Didn't realise she had so much sense.

The Veneti girl, though.

Natalie chewed the straw of her juice drink, watching from the doorway and reflecting on their previous conversation on the Trari roof.

...She'd been right. The girl _had_ been trained. Now how would a slumdock worker be able to afford that?

She tilted her head, trying to untangle the puzzle. Veneti walked out the building.

Camarr and LeBien walked out the building.

Wasn't it too early for them to be doing that?

Natalie stood there, sucking at the last of the drink, considering and weighing the various odds, consequences and the stunning allure of actually getting some genuine explanations, please.

The box went into the bin and she found herself trailing along after them, curiosity taking the lead.

Oh, what the hell...

* * *

She sighed, eyes glazing over the familiar skyline, then dropped off the side of the building.

The ground came up easily a few free-fall seconds later.

Renza stood, trying to fight the wind insistently dragging her hair in front of her face, fighting off the jolts of pain in her spine and calves. An instinctive _tug_ , and her gem formed from the ring on the her finger.

It didn't come with much of a lightshow. It didn't come with much light at all. Jet black and oil slick.

And that was it, wasn't it? Pretending she could have had an ordinary life...

How much time had been wasted? How many lives had been wasted? How many people could have been saved if she hadn't been wasting her time learning spell matrices or all that useless _poetry._ Maybe even Roche could have been saved, with a little more experience.

Why bother wasting time learning for a future she couldn't have.

She shouldn't have been able to feel it, Jacket considered, but the wind was still chill.

She couldn't leave things like this. She had to fight. And find a fight she could _win._

There, at least, the answer was simple. She'd had all day and all night to come up with it.

The Industrial District, rising up in a giant spire of Barrier-contained smog.

Daemons certainly spawned there, but they wouldn't _stay_ there. Too slim on the pickings compared to the rest of Valezorro. That meant their numbers would be fewer; they wouldn't gather.

That meant she had a _chance_.

And... she was still picking them off, right? Any daemon she killed meant someone would live, even if she couldn't manage to get them all. It was... it was better than just dying and not being able to save anyone at all!

...She had to do what she could.

The Industrial District still hung, dark and dank on the skyline, waiting and foreboding. A little white creature scampered up her shoulder onto her head. Warm, but it didn't weigh a thing.

No words of solace, or of any kind, but its gaze matched hers; watching the smoggy blot on the horizon.

To hunting, then.

Valezorro... walking through Valezorro like this was just...

Most of the streets were empty. Few people could be caught out and about, and all of them painfully clear in only doing it because they had to. She spotted more Judiciary Jackets than she did not-.

Keeping to the rooftops seemed to keep her out of sight. Even though this was one of those situations where it should be rather unusual - she switched her Jacket over to something other than the uniform as soon as it occurred to her - no-one seemed to catch her eye or call her down.

It was... oddly sedate. Oddly quiet. Valezorro in the silence was pure melancholy; just the odd hum of mana-electrics and the ever-present slosh of the waves. Crossing canals, crossing rooftops. Every once in a while her gem would ping - a Miasma trail - and she made a note of it, but nothing more.

Industrial rose ahead. The buildings turned from residential and shopblocks to warehouses, small factory stacks and Devicer offices. Approaching the spire of metal and smog, the human element dropped off almost entirely.

Coming up against the Governance barrier, Renza came to a halt, watching the gem in her hands.

Black crows took wing, trailing black feathers above a dark and storming sea; the visage her soul presented her. Her gem was... bad. In a bad state. And she still couldn't afford to die. For a lot of reasons.

This wasn't cowardice, right?

Tired like she hadn't been in months and decades, Renza put her hand to the back of her neck. It felt like she was lifting an ice boulder; transforming like pouring ice water over her head.

"Kyubey, can you do me a favour? I need you to shut down my pain response."

" _Is that wise? Humans feel pain to know when they are damaged, don't they?_ "

Hah. Ha ha.

"Please, it will help."

It didn't actually sound that concerned. Thousands of girls had probably asked it to do the same duty thousands of times before. " _Well, if you're sure._ "

There was a vague sensation of her hair shifting as the Kyubey moved about to put a paw to the gem at her neck. A vague sense of something _pressing_ against her very existence, and then all the aches in her legs and spine abruptly cut off.

A relief.

The Governance barrier flared a rainbow of colours at her approach. Even without her Device, she could somehow instinctively _feel_ it asking for identity and identification.

Her soul gem gave a little burst of light, and the barrier sputtered into dormancy. It wouldn't even trigger an alarm.

Axes in hand, she marched through the field into the smog.

* * *

Something was wrong. Something was so, so very wrong.

What was worst was how they'd somehow managed to _miss_ it; their friend, an E-Ranker with multiple leg injuries, jumping up several stories to make passage - entirely unnoticed - along rooftops, jumping streets and canals alike; both the distances and the grace far beyond what they both intellectually _knew_ the girl was capable of from PE classes, standardised Rank assessments and general fooling around?

Wasn't that just absurd? Wasn't that something that, as soon as you saw it, you'd question it?

So why hadn't they? It was a splinter in her mind, digging in and tearing and - once observed - utterly impossible to ignore. And the Jacket she'd just switched into too. Just something about felt oh so unequivocally _wrong_. Sure, the design was a little weird but hey, some people had hobbies and that didn't make it-

She flinched.

That didn't make it feel utterly unnatural. First at the water gate. Then the trickle of news and that whole Whatever That Had Been with Lovelace. Too surreal; like the whole of the city had just gone irrevocably insane.

Like... like...

It felt like that point in a play, where everything came to a head and things started _tipping._

Like one of those moments. An icy feel in her gut. The point of no return.

Odette Camarr could feel her world tipping out from under her, and that costume, those axes, _that point of blue light she'd carried in her palm_ , the way that Governance barrier just puttered out with barely a whimper, that there, that all was the reason why.

And then there was the Industrial District itself. The giant, roiling smokestack the Governance's Office of Environment kept contained within specialised Barriers to keep the toxic smog out of everyone's airwaves until it was at a 'safe' enough height in the atmosphere it was assumed anyone flying up there would have a high enough Rank their Jackets could keep it out anyway. The giant stain on Valezorro's reputation the Governance's courts were _still_ in strangleholds trying to close down and clean up, much to her mother's agitation.

There was an obvious, very obvious reason why someone - especially one under severe stress - might want to sneak into there alone, unnoticed, and that was terrifying enough.

It wasn't really a decision. Even as Samara shouted in confusion, she was already chasing after.

* * *

Out on Industrial's outskirts, the stacks were only just starting to rise. They'd need to go in a little further to find the real Daemon spawning grounds.

That didn't make the smog less thick. One problem with the Office of Environment's containment strategy; if it was heavier than air - and a lot of it was - it got trapped. In here, the world was stained a dull, unhealthy red; the OoE having to deploy teams of mages periodically to try and 'flush' the contaminants that were too stubborn to rise. Between the wants of Governance, Industry, the Industry's owners and the workers that had to actually stay in here 6-10 hours a day, the Industrial District was easily Valezorro's stranglehold. It had taken the TSAB to finally push eliminating child labour in there through the Courts... though at least that was over 30 years ago.

Still a little ironic, given what she was about to be doing. It would almost be funny if going hunting didn't bring an even higher chance of dying. In here, visibility was the killer; it was good she wouldn't be disastrously outnumbered, but all would hinge on who found who first.

And yet, for all that? Actually being here, actually doing something, was almost a relief. Or maybe that was Kyubey's cutting off her pain response.

"Circle around, sweep the edges up to the processing plant up at Cantinne?" She suggested, watching the steadily rising stacks as they walked deeper and deeper into Industrial.

" _It seems a good plan."_ The Incubator responded neutrally, which probably meant it held no opinion at all.

Alone with her thoughts, the warm-but-weightless sensation of the Incubator on her head and the deadened clatter of her boots on metal plating, Renza walked, waiting for a trail.

* * *

They'd stopped short at the prismatic barrier.

[ **Arrestare! Identificazione necessaria per entrare! Zona pericolosa avanti!** ]

"H-Hey!" Samara was panting now. "What's going on? Where'd Renza even go?"

She raised an eyebrow, fiddling with her Device. "You didn't see her go in?"

"- _She went in?!_ "

Odette frowned. "Yeah; it was right here - you didn't see it?"

She held up her Device as Samara shook her head. A green sigil of a rosette, embedded with her name and family details, displayed itself before the Governance barrier. Her mother had a factory... somewhere in Industrial; should be enough to get her in-

[ **Identificazione accettato, signorina Camarr. Buona giornata.** ]

-Yup. "Never mind; come on!"

Samara started, staring at the doorway opening in the barrier. "- _We're going in too?!_ "

Her rosette Device unfurled in her hand, exploding lengthways in a burst of green mana to form a pole-arm near taller than she was.

Though having her Armed Device fully deployed would help with any spellcasting, materialising the blade on the end was neither a necessary nor consciously made decision.

"Configure your Jacket to filter the air and follow me! _Holda, Aufsetzen!_ "

[ **Jawohl, meine Königin!** ]

Green light flared, a Belkan triangle spellform casting under her feet as she walked through the doorway; civilian clothes on one side, the heavy armour and silver of a Belkan Mage-Knight on the other.

Ahead, the red-rust haze of the Industrial District waited.

* * *

On an Intelligent Device deep in the bowels of the Governance district, a trail of an entirely different kind was being laid.

**[Sbarramento di Ufficio Ambientale _(INDUSTRIA-06, Chiave di volta EE-15 - EE-16)_ accesso autorizzato ODETTE CAMARR]**

**[GIACCA DI PROTEZIONE ATTIVATA: ODETTE CAMARR _(Basso Trari, Minorenne)_ ]**

**[Passando notifica: Ufficio dell'Organismo di Vigilanza, Judiciary, Cifrario 502: possibile incidente in corso]**

**[Passando notifica: Basso Trari Registri di Studenti, ODETTE CAMARR, Giacca di Protezione attivazione _(Ufficio dell'Organismo di Vigilanza, Judiciary, Cifrario 502)_ ]**

**[Passando notifica: Sankt Geistlichkeit Zauberitterkadetten, ODETTE CAMARR, Giacca di Protezione attivazione _(Ufficio dell'Organismo di Vigilanza, Judiciary, Cifrario 502)_ ]**

* * *

The juice box went into a canal. Two more figures disappeared into the smog. In her hand, a blade of glowing pink mana formed out of her blackmarket Device.

Reassurance, more than anything else. Kiddo making a beeline for the smogs was creepy enough, but along the rooftops? With axes? _At_ _E-Rank?_

Things were getting just a little too weird.

She still followed anyway. The barrier, at least, wouldn't be a problem...

* * *

[ **Arrestare! Identificazione necessaria per entrare! Zona pericolosa avanti!** ]

"Alright alright, gimme a minute-"

[ **Accesso consentito, signor Cardager. Siete cinque giorni in ritardo al lavoro.** ]

"Ain't a problem; carry on."

And that was that.

* * *

It was dark in here. Too dark. Mostly, that was the catwalks' fault; a large entanglement of ducts, passageways and support structures sprawling overhead and blocking out the sun's rays the old fashioned way. But then there was the smog; the way it leached the light out of the air and diffused it, to the point questions like 'lit' and 'shadowed' became meaningless.

Visibility was about... 20 metres, she guessed. There was probably an active smokestack somewhere down below. Shapes and boxes in the distance resolved slowly into walkways, struthouses, management rails and all manner of industrial whatnot and nonsense as she approached. Governance might have stopped Industrial from sprawling outwards but they hadn't yet stopped it sprawling _up._

Absently, she tapped an axe against a passing pipeline; it sparked and sounded as everything should.

She knew this wasn't a Barrier; not the Daemon kind; and there wasn't any Miasma here, but it still felt right to be sure.

Her grip tightened.

There wouldn't be that many. One or two at most, right? As long as she was quick. Then she could recover, get her gem cleaned... and try and retake the docks again. And take down the others.

Those barriers would be spawning Daemons off too, now.

She breathed, the perks of her contract rendering the toxic air irrelevant. This couldn't wait.

She couldn't afford to rest or stop. Without acting, things would just spiral even more out of control; even more people get hurt. Valezorro didn't need a Daemon infestation on top of its existing troubles.

Mission set, she continued her march into the maze.

_To war, then._

Of course, _where_ exactly she'd find a daemon was anyone's guess and... well, Industrial was a little. Big. The best she could hope for was to circuit around the usual spots Roche had told her about and if she was lucky-

Her foot froze midstep.

Lucky. Yes. Lucky that someone had _died_ in enough despair to spawn a Daemon she could kill. That would make her _lucky._

Such was the business of a Puella Magi.

 _I'm not creating them_. She told herself. _I'm cleaning up afterwards so it won't hurt anyone else._

She shivered, the axes still a heavy weight, and kept on walking.

* * *

"O-Odette! _Stop!_ "

They skidded to a halt on a catwalk hung high above the ocean waves and a belching pumpstack roaring and clanking repetitiously down below.

Iron chains groaned as they kept the walkway upright.

Odette turned, her armour shining a dull red in the distorted light. "Samara? We don't have much time-"

"- _What are we doing?!_ "

Her friend had her hands in the air, before she had to lean against the walkway, clearly out of breath.

Samara, just as requested, had converted over to a more practical Jacket configuration, a red dress looking the sort of thing she might wear at home, but with a scarf that covered her mouth and was probably the anchor for an air filtration spell.

Odi just stared at her in confusion.

"We're chasing Renza!"

"Renza's _here?!_ "

Odi blinked. "-You didn't see?"

Samara blinked back. "See _what?_ "

This... this just felt absurd. Did she really have to-

"She crossed the rooftops and broke through the barrier!" She tried to point in the direction she thought she'd been her heading, long since lost in the smog.

"W-What?" Her friend just looked... horribly, horribly confused. "How would she even- She's _injured_ Odi!"

"I..." Her mouth jammed. It didn't make any sense, yes- "I _know!_ "

And yet, Samara didn't. "L-Look, this is creeping me out okay? Let's just... let's just get back and call the Judi, yeah? She'd _can't_ have broken inside, she doesn't have the..." Samara waved her arm at Odette's polearm, mana-blade humming and glowing slightly odd colours as contaminants in the air reacted off of it, "...the Access Thing!"

 _Had_ she just imagined everything? Certainly, Renza... Renza Veneti had no means of gaining entry to the Industrial District. She was an E-Rank. She wasn't employed there. She wouldn't know how or even have enough power to try breaking through the barriers, and most of all she didn't have a reason _why_.

Her Device was civilian issue too, the types that were simple, hard to break and could be churned out by the dozen; an easy, steady contract her parents kept and upheld with the city Governance. They, most notably, did not have a twinned Belkan axe form, or even any alternative forms at all.

That _had_ been Renza, right? It had been distant, viewed from behind.

No. The height was right. The hair, she was sure, was right. And they'd been following her, right the way out from the Trari. Hadn't seen when she'd switched her Jacket over to that strange blue dress thing, but...

She was so _sure._

"You still saw them, right?"

Samara panted. "H-Huh?"

"The person with the axes, breaking through the Barrier."

"... _What are you talking about,_ Odi?!"

The two stood there, staring at each other, different pages in different books.

"L-Look, can we just _leave?_ " Samara was shivering. "We... we should be here and I hate this place and it's _wrong_ -"

She tried to reach out with a hand, but something had caught her eye. Something about the smog, the patterns it formed and the way it curled and swam.

The way, now she noticed it, the iron chains seemed to multiply, refracting off into the distance, the sky the sea and the catwalks pealing and multiplying off into infinity-

"...Sam?"

Samara was collapsed on the catwalk.

" _S-Sam?!_ "

* * *

" _-Ah. We've found a new region of Miasma."_

Renza blinked, almost stumbling. "Eh? Where?"

* * *

She'd had dreams like this, sometimes. Valezorro now really _had_ gone completely insane.

Samara, unconscious, hung over her shoulder. Clad in the reflective, eye-burning orange of the emergency gear some people wore under their Jackets. The dress and scarf had just disappeared, unceremoniously, and she wasn't sure when any of that had happened at all.

Holda, at least, was a solid, refreshing weight.

[ **Achtung. Ich habe mich verlaufen. Bitte helfen Sie mir.** ]

T-Though the error messages were less than assuring. It had dropped her old friend's voice down in a flat, even monotone reciting warnings and random phrases in equal volume.

Around them, the catwalks just continued, warping, multiplying, moving, swinging. The fog swirled and changed; at times revealing far distant smokestacks and cranes, at others so close you could barely see your own feet. As if the very world had come alive, solely to mock them and all they thought was real.

Samara, mercy- _anyone_ in their emergency gear, in the Industrial District. With everything in its _air._

"We have to get out of here!"

Was there a leak? Was her air filtration not working properly? Had she just taken a really, really strong hit to the head and forgotten it completely? What was _happening_ here?

[ **Dies ist kein Ort.** **Es gibt kein** **en** **Weg** **.** ]

"Come on, please! We can't stay here!"

Where she ran didn't even seem to matter. Had she passed that stack already? Could she even tell the difference?

Her feet clattered and rang against the metal of the catwalks, as the iron chains groaned and twisted in a rising, brassy choir.

[ **Bitte verstecken Sie sich.** ]

The first flash of light tore the chains apart, tearing them like paper. The catwalk _crumpled_ , scrunching and twisting away at impossible angles and leaving them temporarily, _horrifyingly_ , hung in mid air.

Time stood as gravity took its cue. White figures watched in the distance, half hidden in fog.

Samara slid out of her grip.

" _Holda! WIND-FÄNGER!_ "

[ **Jawhol.** **Wie Sie wünschen.** ]

A torrent of wind surged around her, shredding the fog in the air, setting the chains ablaze in strange, iridescent fire and sweeping Samara out of the sky into her safe embrace.

Her tornado crackling with green energy, they landed on a rooftop, clacking and clanging metal arms working and turning about them, iron puppets on iron strings. Safe. Ish.

Then the barrage came in.

She actually saw the first one coming; saw it flash suddenly into existence from within the smog, careening at her with far more immediacy than any training shot. She dodged aside, well trained instincts called to life, then three more smashed in from behind.

She coughed and choked, rolling across the rooftop like a ragdoll with its back on fire.

But not broken. Her Jacket had taken the damage.

_W-what just-?_

Instincts fired again.

"H-Holda! _Panzerschild!_ "

[ **Wie Sie wünschen.** ]

_Why does she keep saying tha-_

Lightning crashed, as the bolts rammed against the green-glowing, rune-inscribed tetrahedron shield that called up around her. The storm didn't let up; beating and crashing like the repetitious hammer of industry on steel. It couldn't hold forever.

_-Wait, where's Sam?!_

"Holda-"

[ **Ich bin jung. Ich will nicht arbeiten. Ich will leben.** ]

"Holda, find Sam!"

[ **Wie Sie wünschen.** **Bereichssuche.** ]

Prismal motes of green light exploded outward, floating and buzzing like insects and flying outside of the shield. Oddly, the barrages of light seemed to follow after them, even if they couldn't pluck them out of the sky.

[ **Königin sofort geschenkt sein. Die blühenden Rosen sollen der.** ]

It was hard to see through her shield, the fog and the light barrage, but a triangle overlaid into her vision, highlighting a shape lying on the rooftop.

_There-_

But how to reach it?

Wait.

"Holda. Training shots. Radial barrage."

[ **Wie Sie wünschen. Könnte etwas nützliches geschehn** **.** ]

Green light gathered, as she mentally prepped the shield to drop.

_Achtung, fertig, los!_

"GO!"

The lights exploded outwards, flinging themselves along simple vectors as the barrage of light split and divided, trying to catch all of them at once. In the midst of this chaos, she dived to one side and rolled-

_-Kaiser, verleiht mir Flügel-!_

-a burst of lighting-flecked wind-

Samara was a heavy, limp weight, but there wasn't the time to worry.

" _Panzerschild!"_

[ **Wie Sie wünschen.** ]

The distraction barely lasted as long as she'd hoped, but it was enough. When the barrage crashed in again, it did so against the triangular shields.

Odette panted, and tried to figure out under which Sankt Kaiser these events fell under.

First things first, she remembered her training. Samara was still breathing; warm, but immobile.

_One civilian, down._

Air contaminated and Jacket down. She held a hand out, hovering over the girl's mouth, and muttered a spell.

" _Purity Condenser_."

Not a Belkan spell, but a useful one. A small bubble of clean air started to form around Samara's head as the contaminants were rejected and oxygen concentrated. That would help keep her alive.

Now for the next problem.

Unknown assistants at unknown range. Attacking via unknown means - she couldn't hear any spellcasting - in unknown numbers. It was, at least, hammering off against her shield and her Barrier Jacket had proved it could take the worst of it but it would still kick her around; just as dangerous in a place with no visible floor.

This, of course, ignoring the fact that the clanking mechanical arms at work around them managed to look both very real and very much like watercolour paintings on canvas at the same time. And that the words 'down', 'up', 'physics' and 'common sense' had... taken certain liberties at the moment.

She... well, they'd had training, and run practise scenarios and drills and that sort of thing, but it wasn't like she had _experience_ in trying to assess tactical situations. Or insane dreamworlds. Especially the insane dreamworlds.

Somehow, she doubted any of her training instructors would disagree with her current line of thought.

... _Scheisse_.

"Holda?" She whispered, watching the light crash off the shield like hail. "What do you think?"

[ **Gebt ihr euch einmal für Poeten, so kommandiert die Poesie.** ]

...Helpful. Also, her Device was glitching out, but it hadn't yet seemed to affect her spellcasting. Thank the Kaisers. Panic rose, and panic was swallowed.

_What knocked out Samara's Jacket, anyway?_

Her shield wouldn't last forever. Her mana reserves wouldn't last forever. Without any clue where they were, they couldn't run away, and it didn't look like Samara would be getting up any time soon. So that left...

She hefted Holda into a two-handed stance, blade front.

"Training barrage. Same as before. Start preparing wind spells for immediate deployment. Binds and fast-cast shields. Be ready for anything, and we'll cut them down as fast as we can."

Holda sent her telepathic approval. [ **Das ist das Hexen-Einmal-Eins.** ]

She felt the mana leave her to be processed by the Device, so at least that meant she was still listening to her.

Lighting crashed. Lighting broke. Her heart found a home in her throat.

_Well. Here we go._

And then the fog tore in half before a comet of blue.

* * *

_What the hell was happening?_

Had they followed her? They had to have followed her, right? What were they even _thinking?!_

The upcoming Daemon didn't so much get to turn and Renza didn't so much get to stop before she'd crashed straight on through, trailing white pixellate death as her shattering of the sound barrier tore the bloodstain fog asunder. The mechanical arms all seemed to judder and shake in sudden, irrational pain as the brassy choir cracked and broke into a brassy wail.

She came up on a catwalk, crashed through it, caught an axe on the side of a smokestack to kill and redirect her velocity and then she was airborne, sailing high and trying to figure where in the hell she was supposed to land.

Kyubey was... er, somewhere. It had jumped off at some point once she'd truly began picking up speed. They had to, when she started moving that fast.

This all, bizarrely enough, was normal. Odette and Samara being involved, that was not normal. Odette being _perfectly fine_ and still spellcasting, right in the middle of the miasma, that was...

Well, that she hadn't seen before. She hadn't even known that was possible.

She was grateful yes - it was great! They wouldn't suffocate! Horray! - but all over everything, _this was going completely wrong._

They weren't supposed to be here. They weren't supposed to be anywhere _near_ here. They weren't supposed to be _here,_ _now,_ in her world as a Puella Magi, at risk, in the firing line, in harms way. It wasn't like she was blind; she'd gone looking for trouble. She had known, when she'd find it, someone's life would have to be on the line. _She hadn't wanted it to be theirs._

She hadn't even _thought_ it could be theirs.

And now she'd had to charge in and had to fight and was burning magic off like a meteor and didn't have a plan or know how many there were and Kaiser's Mercy _this was another trap wasn't it-_

" _I have the grief cube._ " The absent Incubator spoke, directly into her mind.

She didn't think, or even look. Bouncing off a blast furnace (currently pumping out solid, off-coloured clouds of crayoned smoke and flame), she simply dived.

There, where an array of catwalks gathered in a spider's web.

She landed, the Incubator threw it to her with a flick of it's tail, and she was off again.

Placed against the back of her neck, it felt as if the weight of the world was rolling away.

...But then it was full. Consumed. Her gem wouldn't be fully recharged; it wouldn't be anywhere _near_ charged. But it'd keep her going.

" _Kyubey."_

" _Left."_

She flung it without looking, and felt rather than heard the saturated grief in the cube disappear into the Incubator's back.

Then light started crashing around her, and her priorities shifted accordingly.

That damned fog was creeping back in. Most of the barrage seemed to be coming from below, but it wasn't worth it to rely on that. Throw axes? Waste of mana without a target. She'd have to chase and close.

" _Did you see how many?"_

" _We counted six, first kill included."_

So five then, minimum. This wasn't a Barrier yet either, so eight maximal, unless that event at the Docks started happening again.

Okay. Five was... well, five was still a lot but...

A sudden green burst of light flared, and a torrent of wind and lighting tore out from a rooftop to shred and tear at the smokestacks and fog. Odette.

_I have to fight here._

The finality of it was reassuring, in its own way. The question of 'stay, or run?' no longer mattered.

Hoping Odi had seen something, she charged in the direction of her friend's barrage.

The Daemon almost seemed to come up on her by accident.

Caught by surprise, each tried to dodge the other. One axe still lashed out in an instinctive swipe - it felt like it hit, probably - but it already sent her off off-balance and rolling through the air. Then came a mill structure.

Crashing through it only felt like punching through paper, and the walls tore accordingly, though it bled out the last of her momentum. Out through the hole, she saw a smokestack just crumple and _fold_ , keeling over like a cheap cardboard model.

No time.

" _Did I kill it?"_

" _Yes. I'm locating the cube now."_

" _Good."_

 _That_ was a lesson well learnt. Next target.

She paused, considering her options as pencil dustmotes tumbled off the ceiling. Confusing. Less laser fire seemed to be dogging her than usual.

- _Odette!_

It wasn't coming for her, but she could still hear the bolts crashing and screaming through the air. Fire and counter fire, like and unlike what she'd heard in shows and documentaries. _A Mage in combat._

She smashed straight out through the wall.

Covered behind a casting triangle of green lines, Odette - her Jacket in full Barrier mode, resplendent in armour and ribbons - was firing shot after shot, polearm Device held out in a shooting configuration.

Her stomach lurched. She was exchanging ranged fire with a Daemon pair admirably but another two were-

" _Behind you!"_

The warning barely came in time.

Odette dived aside, movement immediate, and the flash of light instead reflected off the inside of her shield to gouge a deep, long gash out of the roofing.

Renza flung her axes, even if it was pointless.

They'd come up through the roof, phasing through the material behind her. Common tactic, but Odette wouldn't know-

Laserlight seared past her face. She kicked off the mill, hearing its paper form crumple and flatten behind her as she rocketed the distance like a shot from a cannon. Her gem felt like a solid ball of ice on her neck.

This couldn't keep up.

The Daemons had, of course, phased back out by the time she smashed through the roof, the 'metal' sheeting bending and warping like drop hitting water before collapsing entirely into sheets of grey-painted paper. Amongst steel girders and iron bars, they fell through the roof to the floor.

For a few seconds, the dust and soot reigned king.

" _-Sam!"_

Odette's telepathy burst through even without Renza's Device.

" _Where's Sam?!"_

Panicking, she tried to look about, shapes in the dust, mechanical arms and production lines-

" _Wind-Fänger!"_

The dust tore asunder, revealing a lone figure caught in iron chains and surrounded by an array of life-sized pottery dolls.

" _-There!"_

Both of them scrambled over. One slash of her axes and Samara fell free.

Odette enwrapped their comatose friend in a green, line-crossed glow as her Device scanned her and softened the fall.

"...S-She's alright. Broken ankle."

_Lucky._

Odi looked up, then paled. "Renza, you're hurt-!"

"-Eh?"

Liquid running down the side of her cheek below the eye, oddly warm. It didn't hurt, just like the Incubator said.

"...Is it bad?"

Odette stared. "...Scratch, I think."

"-Then I'll be fine. Don't worry. We need to get you out of here."

Odette stared even more. "R-Renza what's-"

"Later. I'll explain later!"

No time. The injury didn't matter; the Daemons would be here any second. Her neck felt heavy and in her arms and legs an indescribable _ache_ -

" _I have the next cube."_

The Incubator jumped in through a nearby window, a little black block in its mouth.

Renza sagged with relief. _"G-Gratza."_

Odi watched, eyes still wide, as Renza brought the cube up to the gem at the back of her neck.

" _Was ist das-"_ her friend cried, looking between Kyubey and Renza in utter confusion, " _Lost Logia?!_ "

Then laser fire started punching through the walls.

" _-Later!"_

* * *

She'd... stopped trying to figure out what was going on. No time. Answers later; the danger was, very immediately, here in the now.

[ **Lasst mich auch endlich Taten sehn!** ]

...She wished Holda would shut up.

" _Tank and shoot."_ Renza transmitted. _"I'll sweep and cover."_

Why her friend knew combat tactics wasn't something she understood either.

But none of that mattered. Laser light punched through and hammered in an increasingly familiar manner against her shield. Samara was safe, but they had to get her out of here.

" _Understood."_ She took her position, polearm extended, _Panzerschild_ formed.

So they would fight, they would destroy their enemies and in this, whatever it was - she _would_ be getting an explanation - Renza was her ally. Trying to slot this madness in with all her other suspicions and fears for the girl was like an overwhelming cloud on the horizon; she couldn't _afford_ to dive into that right now.

Not whilst under attack, and they all were in danger. Under these conditions, everything else was irrelevant.

Renza was standing at her side, then Renza was flying through the air several meters away, and it took her a moment just to connect these two events.

_S-She's fast..._

Irrelevant. One of the figures - too tall, too pale, too... whatever that was on their heads - was out of cover, laser-light spraying out.

Aim, and fire.

"Axel Shooter."

[ **Wes Brot ich ess, des Lied ich sing.** ]

Green lighting and a bolt of mana and energy, formed and launched from Holda's tip. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite her best spell - Belkan just wasn't _built_ around long range - and the glare obscured her vision. Unconfirmable kill.

" _They're baiting you."_ Renza's advice filtered in. _"Shoot the cover instead."_

Where _was_ she anyway?

Adjusting her aim slightly, Odette intoned again.

"Axel Shooter."

[ **Nach Haupt und Herzen dir -** ]

The bolt of lighting tore the smokestack apart exactly like paper; she watched at the electricity tore up and down through the 'image' and burst it into - seemingly small, though they couldn't be at that distance - scraps and shreds, edges rough and torn with the canvas showing through.

And, thrown out into the open, one of those pixelated figures in the Priest-King robes, staggering and whirling about to try-

A simple flash of blue streaking in from on high, and that figure was abruptly in half.

 _She's... faster than I can follow._ She realised, with an odd mental lurch. Renza was supposed to be the quiet one; the thoughtful one; the one that was protected not-

Irrelevant. Pixeled figure on a gangway, hung on chains and string. Precarious in the least...

She aimed, hoping she could keep this up.

"Holda."

[ - **Und webt in ewigem Geheimnis -** ]

The bolt of lightning flared, tearing string and 'metalwork' asunder. Assorted wreckage and shreds tumbled loosely away to reveal...

The figure still standing there, hanging in mid air. Oh.

" _-I've got it!"_

Another dart of blue, and another figure spinning merrily into separate pieces.

Could they keep this up? How many were there anyway? She checked over her shoulder - Samara was still there, factory floor empty. What were they fighting? What were the rules? Should she relocate -?

The small white creature with impossible ears, landing on Holda's shaft with a cube in its mouth. Their eyes met, blue to red, just a for a second-

[ **\- Unsichtbar-sichtbar neben dir?** ]

" _-ODI!"_

-And it was gone; the shaft just a stepping stone along on its way.

A shadow had risen, towering over her.

Too late, she turned.

Too late, she saw.

The impossible figures that rose up, took aim, charged.

In completely the wrong direction.

The lights fired, and the blue comet roared straight into it, and everything collided in an explosion of pixels and blood.


	7. Midnight

_A/N (03/06/14): Done some cleanup, editing and whatnot on the earlier chapters (particularly the first two: so long, plotholes!); if anyone's been planning a re-read, now would be the time._

_Please also note the Spacebattles version of this story has been moved to the sister forum Sufficient Velocity; go there if you want translations of foreign phrases and any artwork I manage to throw up there._

_Half-way through now! Can't believe it! -Guessy_

__With thanks to Gnarker of the Spacebattles forum, for the German language assistance._ _

* * *

Cast in the fading light of evening, the Caglican sky burned heavy and red with the gathering clouds; a palette of smudges and blurs, stretching their colours far and wide across the vast horizon.

Somehow, she felt confused to see it.

_I'm awake? Asleep? Alive?_

Blinking brought it to focus. The world felt so quiet. Or... muffled? Maybe? Were there words for a situation when you didn't know what the situation was?

A heavy impact on her chest jostled her into reality.

"-You're alive! Thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyou-"

Renza blinked. Looking down at the tangle of blond hair and pigtails wasn't difficult, but she couldn't imagine why she thought it should be.

"...Camarr?"

Why was- oh, right.

"O-Odi...?"

It felt like someone had stolen the filing index to her memories and thrown them all to the floor, leaving the old and the new to mix and confuse themselves interchangeably. Odette missed the slip. They were in Valezorro's Industrial District? Strange...

Something seemed to be hammering, knocking at the back of her mind as Odette helped her sit upright. Some instinct; some thing that hammered and screamed for her attention. That something about this scene was _wrong._

Then she noticed the Incubator, sitting distantly at one side with its tail aswishing, and realised just what her friend was wearing.

And then everything slotted back together, and started to make horrible, horrible sense.

* * *

She sniffled, leaning off as her friend sat upright.

Renza seemed to stare, like she was bewildered or half asleep, but she was _alive_ and all in one piece and not smeared across the walkways or falling off into the-

She crashed into her again, hugging desperately. Her friend was real, solid, warm, _alive._

Odette sobbed into her shoulder.

"Y-You're alive!"

It felt almost too absurd to be true. Not after what she'd seen happen right in front of her.

Her friend patted her awkwardly, gloved hand sliding off metal plate. Heavy and solid in a way Jackets simply weren't.

"...Odi."

She hugged her tighter.

"...Odi, what did you _do._ "

She frowned, confused. Something in that tone felt a little too-

"I _saved_ you!" Odi defended. "You _died_ , Renza!"

Renza hadn't shifted an inch. "Then, how did you save me, Odi?"

Odette stared. "I..." No. She had to know. After all- they were the same now, right? She glanced at the little white creature - 'Cúbay' he had called himself - sitting just off to the side, tail a-flicking. She had to have done the same thing, right? She had to understand what was happening here so-

...So the only way her question made sense was if she was hoping it would not be true.

She felt her stomach turn to ice.

" _Odette Camarr contracted to bring you back to life."_ Cúbay 'spoke' helpfully, making Odette jump. _"Now there are two of you; you won't have to fight alone anymore. That's good, isn't it?"_

Renza had been fighting alone-...? No, that... yes, that made a lot of things make sense now, but...

Oh. Of course. The injuries, the isolation and secrets. That was... and she'd just thrown herself straight into it...

_...And now I'm involved with a Lost Logia._

Evidently, all this had shown on her face, because Renza abruptly pulled her into a near-bone crushing hug.

"R-Ren-?"

"I'm sorry!"

...Wait, what?

"H-Huh?" Was the most Odette could manage, winded, trying to gently push on her friend's shoulders to make her ease off.

"I-I'm sorry! _Tengo toda la culpa! Perdóname!_ -"

"R-Renza that's enough-!"

"- _Perdóname!_ "

"I-It's alright! It's alright I forgive you- Renza, I forgive you it's alright-"

She hugged her back desperately, rubbing her shoulder blades and trying to get her to relax, her mind in complete deadlock.

Her friend had quite literally _died_ trying to save her, and now she was apologising that it wasn't enough.

She shuddered, and hugged her closer.

"It's okay. It's alright."

Around them, Industrial was impressively and disarmingly normal. The sun, now setting, had the haze at an angle; cutting through it in reds and yellows. She hadn't realised they'd managed to find themselves this high up; the heavier smog curled and swum further down below.

A brief flash of blue to her right distracted her for a second; Samara's Jacket reactivating itself. The girl was still unconscious, splayed out on the walkway; Odette's oxygen condensing spell still shimmering about her head.

It didn't look too comfortable. They should at least move her-

Her mind locked up again. _But what do we say?_

...I-Irrelevant. Samara needed... well. Would she wake up? Was she unconscious? Asleep? Coma? What were the rules here? The Clinico or the Church would have a better idea but first they'd have to move her-

Not to mention; Renza hadn't let go yet.

"...Renza," she put a hand on her shoulder, pushing gently, "let go."

No response.

"We need to check on Sam, okay?"

The arms loosened.

She stood, but Renza didn't seem to follow. Trying to pat her head in a reassuring manner, she hurried past; clanging across the gantryway.

T-That response was... no. Thinking about what she'd just gotten into could come later. Samara was still unconscious on the walkway. This wasn't the time.

Rolling her friend over into a more comfortable position, she brought Holda over to run a check and... mentally stumbled.

Holda could be a rosette, and Holda could be a polearm. Technically, it still was the latter, but the blade had never been _solid_ \- shining silver-red in the falling evening - and the rosette had never been present in the pole form; big, solid and mounted on her forearm in a way she somehow just _knew_ was meant to deploy into a shield at a moment's notice.

It was correct and not-correct, with an alien weight both heavier than it should have been and yet light as a feather to wield.

"H-Holda?" This was still Holda, right?

[ **Ja?** ]

...Well then.

"Are you alright? Diagnostics?"

[ **Ich bin sehr lebendig!** ]

...That was not a comforting response.

She looked between Holda and her friend upon the catwalk. Sure, the only injury she had a broken ankle but that didn't leave you _unconscious_. And then there'd been the exposure in Industrial...

...No. Let the professionals in the Serenita handle it. It wasn't worth the risk; not with unpredictable magic.

The irony of thinking that _now_ wasn't lost on her.

A scrunch of cloth and a rattle of chains behind her. Renza had stood up.

Odette whirled. "Are you-?"

"I'm fine."

She walked across, mechanically stiff, to crouch at Samara's side. "How is she?"

...Odette stammered. "She- she's unconscious. The ankle's still broken but I don't-"

"She'll be fine."

"-know..."

The wind rattled at the chains holding up the walkway, catching at Renza's hair lengths and flicking them into the breeze. Odette went silent.

"Daemons want to drain people," Renza began, abruptly, "so letting them die doesn't make sense. Like diseases; just a side-effect. The Miasma should actually have cleared the air; she shouldn't have been exposed to any pollution."

Odette blinked, trying to make sense of the collection of words and Important Sounding Nouns her friend had seen fit to hit her with.

"The unconsciousness is normal; she'll wake up. The Jacket thing too. Nothing... nothing works right with Miasma so magic breaks down and- I'm not sure why yours worked I guess it was the Potential thing and-"

"Renza-"

Her hands were fidgeting, fingers scrabbling against each other. "T-There's a lot you- there's so much you need to know, you _should_ have known before you- there's your Soul Gem and you'll need to keep it with you and I don't know what's going on with your Device and-"

"- _Renza!_ "

She broke. "I-I'm sorry!"

Odette grabbed her by the hands. "Renza! Easy! Slow down- it's going to be alright!"

Renza folded, burying her head in her shoulder. "...I'm not good at this, Odi." She whispered. "I'm no good..."

She found herself hugging her, once again. "It's alright. You're not alone now, okay? We'll figure things out."

Over the top of Renza's head, she caught the flick of a white tail darting off over the side of the walkway. Wait, Cúbay? Where was he running off t-

" _Roche."_ Renza had said, suddenly.

Odi blinked, distracted. "-Huh?"

"Roche. You remember her, right? She was one too."

Roche... Ro- _oh_. Her? She'd thought she was just a friend from the docks-

-Wait. Past tense. That icy feeling returned to her gut.

"...How's she doing?" Odette asked, fearing the answer.

"She's dead." Renza's voice was barely a whisper. "She's dead and I wasn't able to save her." A sob. "Straight into the canals..."

The world seemed oddly chill. Roche... Roche was a face should could barely remember - looked a lot like Samara, she'd thought at the time - but...

She'd seemed such a cheerful girl. A good person. Someone she wouldn't mind meeting again.

And now, would not.

"H-How long...?"

"One month ago." Renza's voice felt dead; almost rote. "On patrol. It just... happened. Neither of us reacted in time. That was it."

...Odette fell silent.

"We kill the Daemons, the Daemons kill us." Renza shrugged, shaking slightly; quiet and barely audible over the whistling wind, but with a finality she couldn't ignore. "Neither of us have any control over it! They can't stop. We can't afford to stop. So we fight, and we die. And when we do..."

Renza nestled her head into her shoulder, looking away from the world. "...It just keeps going."

There was another rattle of chains, and suddenly little Cúbay was there, depositing those black cube things from his mouth on the walkway. Two in all.

" _She needs to use them."_ He told her calmly, his mouth never moving.

...Odette stared at them blankly, still reeling, Renza still quiet and eerily _still_ against her shoulder. The cubes looked not-quite-real and yet somehow inert, though she couldn't explain how she could tell. Wait, no- there'd been something like this in the warehouse, hadn't there? Shortly before-

The cubes were solid, and an immediate concern. Odette shuddered. Renza needed to use these, whatever they were, and she didn't know how.

"What are they?"

" _Grief Cubes."_ Cúbay informed her, his telepathic voice quite dissonant to the situation.

Renza pulled away, looking at the two inert cubes wearily.

"...If I use those," she stated, "I'll have to fight again."

" _If you don't use them,"_ Cúbay replied plainly, _"you won't exist anymore."_

Renza sagged forward; an exhausted weight on Odette's shoulder.

"...I don't want to keep fighting. Just let me stay here. Let me just be Renza Veneti."

Odette's voice caught in her throat-

" _-Renza!"_

"I'm sorry, Odi. I don't want to die like that..."

She froze.

"Then _live."_

She'd said it - ordered it, even - before she'd even thought about it.

_And how much have I been doing that already?_

She grabbed Renza by her dress anyway before she could lose her own momentum. "Then _live_ , Renza! You died before, didn't you? I brought you back from that, didn't I?"

If this had just put her in the same situation- she swallowed, eyes screwing shut.

" _You don't want to throw that away, do you?!"_

It had come out more as a beg than she'd hoped. She had to pray it would still across.

When she forced herself to reopen them, she found Renza staring back at her in complete surprise.

W-Was it too much, to demand that? Well- no, she'd just _saved her life_ , possibly... done something terrible to achieve that. Her grip on the dress tightened.

She had _every right_ to demand her friend stayed alive. To not waste... w-whatever it was she'd just given up.

That she might not like what that thing was, was a suspicion she didn't want to confront right now. The consequences were a dark and terrible weight... that would have to be confronted later, even if she couldn't help but sense them hanging in the wings.

So she trembled, looked Renza straight in the eyes, and prayed.

Eventually, almost shell-shocked, Renza turned, and scrambled for the two cubes, Odette watching her the entire way.

Her grip on the dress vanished just as the dress did; that baggy orange emergency gear flickering into sight for a moment as her friend's Jacket - her actual one, Odette realised; if it was just changing modes it wouldn't have to completely reinitialise like that - reformed around her. She rocked back onto her knees, watching in mute incomprehension.

An egg-like Device, almost pitch black in Renza's trembling hands. Odette blinked. That was the same thing she'd been using before, on the way to Industrial. The thing that had given her such foreboding about this whole endeavour.

Almost instinctively, her eyes flickered down. There was a ruby, built into the armour on the back of her left hand. Set inside another rose motif against the silver plate.

It flashed in the fading light.

"This..." Renza spoke, almost hesitantly, regaining Odette's attention. "...This is a Soul Gem."

...It looked very dark. Slick viscous fluid, like oil or tar, seemed to flow and churn within it, flecked by odd colours of paint; purple, blue and red. It gave you an icy chill, just to be looking at it.

"You said Soul-?" Odette began, a horrible, sinking suspicion creeping in. Renza shushed her with a raise of her hand.

"These are Grief Cubes, like the Incubator said."

She spared a glance at little Cúbay, still watching the proceedings - 'Incubators?' - but immediately had to look back when she saw what was going on.

Before her own eyes, a thin little trail of roiling darkness pealed free of the Devi- Gem in Renza's hand, connecting to the cube she held up in her other. It was like watching a dark star siphoning; there was no crack or hole in the gem, but the darkness seemed to diffuse out of it anyway.

She watched, in confusion and awe, before it abruptly cut out. The same darkness seemed to be clinging to the cube now; the tiny thing practically radiating malice.

"...Renza...?"

"Daemons drop these." Her friend explained, holding it up. "When they die, you'll need to collect them. You need them to recharge your Gem."

Odette stalled. That didn't look like recharging to-

Renza continued: "They, er... they don't take much individually though. You need a few to completely..."

Renza's eyes glanced down at her gem, and Odette's followed.

...She blinked. It actually looked a little brighter. Or... like the bottom of the ocean, less contaminated.

 _Wait_...

"When the cube is full, just give it to Cúbay" - she got a feeling Renza was pronouncing it differently - "and he'll dispose of it. Another Daemon will spawn if you don't."

Um. "You keep talking about Daemons, but... what are...?"

Cúbay decided to answer that one. _"They are born from grief and despair, and seek to spread it as their means of reproduction. By contracting Puella Magi, and recovering the Grief Cubes, we; the Incubators; inhibit their spread."_

She blinked at him.

"...O-Okay..." That really _did_ sound like some cartoon. Only... she'd seen them, fought them, and the... she glanced across at Renza. The repercussions of their existence were plain to see. As absurd as it sounded, it was impossible to deny. Not now, anyway.

Renza shrugged wearily. "Like it said. Daemons kill people, so we hunt Daemons. In exchange, we get a wish."

And hers was right in front of her.

She was about to ask something, but Renza threw the blackened cube to one side; some instinctive gesture. Before she could even ask, Cúbay had ducked down, catching it with his tail, and flicking it straight into a doorway that opened on his-

Odette screamed, and nearly scrambled off the walkway.

...Cúbay tilted it's head. The doorway or _whatever that had been_ was gone now but that- that was-

Renza was smiling sadly. Nostalgia, she suddenly recognised.

...It belatedly occurred to her her friend had almost certainly gone through the exact same thing.

"...Sorry." Renza apologised, a little late.

"U-Um-!"

"Were you going to ask something?"

"U-Um..." Odette scrambled, mentally. What _had_ she been about to-

"The... the cubes! And the gem, they... it looked like something was coming out of the gem, so what was that...?"

" _Grief and despair."_ Cúbay answered again, quite unconcerned with recent events or the words he was transmitting. _"The same as Daemons form from. It generated as a waste product from using the magic of your soul."_

Renza was standing.

" _We can discuss this later, however."_ Cúbay concluded, unhurried.

Her friend dusted herself off, as Odette tried to process that. 'Magic of the soul'? From a 'Soul Gem'...

Instinctively, her eye was drawn to the ruby on the back of her palm. Before she could even ask, the ruby - all the armour she was wearing even - burst into motes of light, hanging a few centimetres out before whirling around her as if sucked into...

She stared. The 'Gem' in her hand (her hand had instinctively turned over to catch it, she noticed) looked bright; ruby red, colourful, the _light of her soul_ and-

She froze up. She hadn't thought of that comparison. It hadn't even occurred to her; it was just as if it was the only way her mind _could_ describe it.

But that had implications.

She looked back up at the dark, black thing Renza still cradled.

"...Renza, use the other cube."

"You need to practise-"

" _Use the other cube,_ Renza _._ "

Like a child scolded, Renza shuffled, and crouched down to scoop up the last cube. Odette made sure to watch; the darkness siphoned away, some of the inky blackness drawing out; like she thought, it was as if Renza had her own private ocean in there; the oily darkness and the waters unable to mix and churning around each other.

She cast a second glance down at her own. Hard to tell through the light - a little hard to look at, actually, Kaisers - but she thought she saw...

...Petals. Petals were what were swirling and drifting within the light of her soul; as if lifted and carried on a gentle summer's breeze.

She wondered if the rose motifs were Holda's fault.

There was another 'kyip!' sound as Cúbay consumed the other cube. Odette suppressed a shudder, glad she at least wasn't watching this time.

"Odi..." Renza began quietly.

She stood, facing the friend she'd saved.

"I... if I don't come back..."

Odette grasped her by the shoulders. "You're going to live, Renza." It was a promise.

" _If_. I- I don't want to die either, believe me, but _if."_

...She softened. "If it happens, I'll take care of your father."

Renza nodded her thanks, eyes averted. "Look after Sam, too. T-There's..." Renza broke, for a moment, "there's a shrine; for Roche; in the Basilica. Cúbay can show you where it is. It'll need moving soon."

She pulled her into a hug. "It's alright. I'll take care of it; you can show me yourself, remember?"

"Try not to fight with Penne, too."

She nodded- then blinked. Wait-

Renza was pulling away. "Take Sam back to the Serenità, won't you? She wake back up in a few hours."

"-Huh-?"

She smiled, backing up against the railing. "I'll see you again soon."

-This felt too much like a goodbye-

-"Wait-!"

But she was already gone.

Odette Camarr gripped nothing but the wind, hand outstretched towards the rattling railing in front of her. Just her on her own, with the evening sun.

Cúbay abruptly scampered up her armour plate, making her jump as he sat on her head. Samara was still lying out on the wire mesh floor.

She let out the breath she'd been holding shakily, before walking over. "...R-Right..."

* * *

She staggered into his bola in the late evening, with the sun hung red in the sky.

Through the cigarro smoke and the stench of old alcohol, sweat and engine oil, Jacque Cassot took one look at her and nearly dropped his Device.

" _Chica_ -"

In through the doorway, to slide across the wall into a creaking chair; a mess of weak limbs and ragged breathing. The entire bola was tellingly empty; just blankets and food all in close proximity, easy to tie together and toss onto the back of the waterskiff that took centre stage on its suspending wires, held above the hatch in the floor that lead into the sloshing waters below.

A familiar room. Safe.

Natalie wheezed, keeping a firm hand pressed against her side. Still bleeding, even after the heals. Damnit.

" _Chica_ what happened-"

"I'm fine, I'm fine! I'll-" ow " _-be_ _fine_."

Jacque, somehow, did not believe her. "The Tosca-?"

"Nah, nah," waved him off. _Ow_. "Not the..." she breathed, "not the Tosca."

Jacque went quiet. "...Judi?"

She winced. " _No_. Weren't human. Fuck knows, some kind of construct I think-"

Had to gasp for air. Seriously, _ow_ , what was taking those healing spells so long- "-i-it's something else. Somethin' that ain't the usual."

She waved him off when he moved forwards, his own hands starting to glow as they moved towards her bleeding side. "Don't, probably overdid it myself anyway."

 _That_ was an unpleasant truth behind magical healing. Use it too much, and the cure got worse than the disease. She didn't want her insides being screwed up even worse from mana over-saturation much. Yeah, those action flicks were probably exaggerating when they made people explode from it _but still._

Besides, she had a real good idea she was going to need that mana later.

Jacque lowered his hands; towering slightly even when he was crouch down to eye level.

"Know what it was, chica?"

She closed her eyes. "...Got an idea."

She thought back, considering the things she'd seen. The bizarre, pencil crayon world, the bizarrer, towering giants.

The E-Ranker, who could shoot through the sky with axes in hand, hacking her opposition apart into ribbons at speeds you made an S Rank out of.

She'd been winged by one of the light barrages, and had to flee before she saw the end of it, but the images remained.

There'd been a Device; Renza was using it. A Summons too, by the looks of it; that little white thing with red eyes she _swore_ saw her at least once, even if the two kids didn't. It explained so much, even as it threw up even more questions.

She opened her eyes again, shifting her injured side, and met Jacque's concerned look with her own.

"Tiny little fucks, tiny little island; you were wonderin' what the Tosca were playin' at, right?"

He nodded. She swallowed; the revelation had been bitter even to her.

"What if they had a Lost Logia?"

* * *

It was late by the time she'd reached the shoreline. Sitting atop the bola, a black, craggy mass rested, silhouetted against the dying sun.

She smiled. Ciardo was waiting for her.

The sun being swallowed by the horizon was a dull, solid-red glare. At this time of the evening, the shoreline felt oddly silent; only the occasional call of gulls or the water lapping against the stilts down below. The creaking of flakboard underfoot stood out starkly by comparison.

"Padre." She greeted warmly, as she arrived.

Weatherbeaten and tired, Ciardo looked up. She saw his features soften.

The ladder they'd gouged out of the plaster up onto the roof was a rough as always. She climbed it anyway. Side by side, father and daughter watched as the sun fell out of the sky.

Just the gentle waves beneath, and Ciardo's regular, rumbling breathing. The cool sea breeze tingling against her skin. The most relaxed she'd felt in days.

"How have you been?" He asked, voice quiet.

"I've been fine. You?"

Ciardo sighed wearily. The delay felt natural in the timeless, lazy evening. "Well enough."

An easy silence fell between them, as they watched the ships sailing past in the distance. Even the closing storm clouds couldn't diminish the view.

She rested her head against his giant, craggy arm.

"I'm sorry I'm not home very often." He apologised.

"It's alright; I understand."

"Work has... become busy lately."

"I know."

He moved the arm, pulling her into a gentle hug against his side.

"You're staying safe?"

"Mhm."

"Good. Camarr and LeBien?"

"They're doing alright."

He nodded. "Look after each other."

"We will."

The sun was almost down beneath the horizon.

"Will work take long?"

He rumbled contemplatively. "It shouldn't." She felt him lean back, looking up at the stars coming out above. "Should be over soon, I'd think."

"Mhm..."

She nustled into his embrace, watching the sun sink, leaving only pink and reds stretching out on the distant horizon.

"Say, Padre?"

"Si?"

"Can you tell me about mother?"

A rough, heavy hand patting her head. "Of course."

Even if she knew all about her already, hearing her father talk about her would never be tiring.

* * *

Cúbay had stuck with her all the way through the Serenità, all through stumbling through explanations to the _Schwester-doktoren_ , all the way to riding home on a hired barca in the late evening. Later than usual evening. Oh Kaisers, this was going to be fun to explain...

Bizarrely, no-one had commented once on how she had a little white animal sitting on her head. She'd been waiting for that the entire time.

Now she'd come home and...

She flashed Holda's rosette form in front of the scanner at their front gate, and it transferred her the news. Mother would be staying overnight in the office again, then. Taken the housemistress too.

Oh well, that... simplified things. And a reminder that there was fresh pasta and vegetables in the fridge, which she knew already.

She sighed, rubbing her thumb against the ring on her finger, and decided cooking could be attempted on another day.

She'd been trying to avoid thinking about it, and felt she had a masterful job, but it was a quiet evening, and the contemplative air was getting hard to miss.

The gate locked behind her, the security spells around it reactivating with a low, ozone hiss. Set a little high, she thought, but then were still peals of smoke rising in the distance.

...If she was some sparkly frilled heroine of justice, did that mean she'd have to deal with that too?

Granted, as a Mage-Knight Cadet, she had every expectation of 'dealing with that' in her near future... emphasis being on _future_ , once the 'Cadet' part had been dropped off the end. This was all too soon.

She considered if fighting the Tosca would be more or less scary than that hectic fight against the Daemons, barely... what? Five hours ago?

She stopped, in the front doorway, feeling almost akin to deja vu. It felt so much longer than that.

_I really..._

The first fight of her life. Three people, herself included, had almost died tonight, and one actually _had_ until she'd-

She shut the door behind her before the shakes could set in. Somehow, she felt grateful the house was empty as she slid down it into a sitting position, facing the empty lobby.

_I really... could have died tonight..._

Samara almost died tonight. Renza really _did_ die tonight, but had been saved by nothing less than a miracle.

She rubbed the ring on her finger. The rules and laws of the universe had literally been twisted, to give her that second chance.

And they had done so at the wish of Odette Camarr.

A terrifying thought. They, all of them, were terrifying thoughts. And this was... this was what Renza had been doing? Day after day?

It slot together. Horribly, it all slot together. As it were all she could think of; all the little winces and grimaces when her friend thought they weren't looking, the hospital visits and random absences, the way she'd slowly just... stopped being there... all the little white lies and the desperate pleas not to worry...

That had been her friend's life, for three months, all on her own. And now she'd jumped right into it.

She exhaled, resting her head on her arms, propped up on her knees. Cúbay jumped off with a barely detectable motion.

It wasn't something she could regret. She'd saved a life; saved _Renza's_ life, but...

...A chance to have thought it over first would have been nice.

She looked back up, and saw Cúbay looking right back. Tail a-flicking.

"You could have told me, first." She accused.

" _There wasn't time."_

"Renza killed the last two Daemons in that suicide crash; I wasn't in any danger."

" _Your Potential was very time dependent. If we had attempted to explain, it would have impaired your ability to make a wish."_

My, that sounded so very _reasonable_.

"And I suppose that's true of every girl you 'contract'?"

" _Mhm!_ " Cúbay nodded cheerfully, that blank smile making it seem happy to be understood.

Her hands tightened.

Cúbay's head tilted. " _You fit the statistical curve. In your situation and in our experience; had we said anything, would you have listened?_ "

That blue comet, crashing into the laser barrage. The blood and debris, crashing into the Daemons. Her hands tightened into _fists._

"Does that even matter?!" She felt herself roar.

His tail swished, unaffected. _"A Puella Magi is powered by their emotion. Their wish, doubly so. It makes little sense from a logical perspective, but from our statistical observations-"_

"...Shut up."

Thinking about it made her head pound.

"Just... shut up."

The Incubator fell silent.

She breathed, trying to let the anger out, resting the back of her head against the door. It took a shuffle to get her braid out of the way; she found herself fiddling with it as she thought.

The things she'd said; the promises they'd made on the rooftop replayed through her mind.

Ciardo, obviously, she'd do what she could - mother was always looking out for Myedoans anyway it couldn't be _that_ hard - and Samara... well, Samara would be fine. She was a strong girl... usually...

Whatever that Lovelace thing had been about - it was the first name basis that bugged her - she had no idea.

Beyond that, though, there was one question that had never been asked.

"...What did you wish for, Renza?"

" _We'd like to know too."_

Odette jumped in her skin, and accidentally bashed her head against the door.

" _You were listening-?!"_ She hissed, wincing.

The Incubator paused, mid-lick of its paw. _"You asked a question; of course."_

Well... yes, but...

She starting to form a worrying impression that the Incubators just didn't _get_ humans very well.

"W-Well, I wasn't!" She retorted in a huff. _Ow_ , the back of her head hurt...

The Incubator looked at her for a second, then went back to licking his paw. Once again, she had the almost irresistible urge to punch him into the wall.

Wait- "You don't remember the wishes you made?"

" _If you're referring to the wishes we grant, then no; we keep record."_

...Odette tried to think about that, then held her head and groaned. Great.

" _Of course, if she were to confide it with you, then-"_

"Shut up, Incubator."

* * *

"Caff?" Freiderike offered, returning with their cased Devices in one hand and a cardboard cafeteria box in the other.

Domhnall blinked awake, then took the box carefully, feeling both limbs and chair creak. "Thanks."

Still sitting in the lower hangers; filled with teams and Dispatch squads milling around and waiting and getting in all the engineers' collective hair as they readied as many birds for takeoff as they could manage on this short notice. Between the havoc within the Polizern and the paranoia of the Internal Group, it just wasn't worth trying to move around that much.

He grimaced; the place had only become _more_ hectic and overcrowded since. The Judiciary... wasn't used to mobilising like this. Either people were panicking trying to do too much with too little time, or they were like the two Ispettorres, with nothing obvious to do and all the time in the world not to do it. Fred had volunteered herself to find where their Devices were at on the basis they'd be needing them.

"They hadn't even scanned though them yet." She explained, half bemused, half despairing, taking the next chair and cracking her case open. "When I asked at the checkin desk, they just waved me at the storage room."

...That was a little depressing. And he could think of at least a dozen potential security holes that could crop up right there.

"You had to sign them out at least?" He asked, hopefully.

Fred nodded, sliding her gloves back into place and inspecting all the finger joints.

...He should probably get to that himself, actually. Leaning forward, he caught Diarmuid's case as Fred nudged it closer with her foot. Opening it and letting the blocky Device reattach to his arm was a familiar process.

" _Well, anything?"_ He queried.

[ **4 important case notifications and 31 new messages** **, mo Rí** ]

 _Naturally_...

Something to read, at least, even if his ability to actually do anything from here was significantly impaired. He flicked through them as - he could instinctively tell - Fred was doing the same, or something similar. There was just a _look_ people tended to have when interacting with holographic interfaces only they could see.

...Huh, interesting. One of the people involved on the periphery of the Veneti case - the daughter's side - had been logged activating her Barrier Jacket and passing through the Office of Environment's shield on the border to Industrial. Three hours later - barely thirty minutes ago, actually - the same had checked in at the Policlinico, carrying the other friend with a broken ankle and suspected pollutant inhalation.

There was a story there, almost certainly, though how relevant it would be remained to be seen.

Still, it would have to wait, and neither of the two involved looked to be going anywhere.

...His mood dropped, once again. And the Veneti case looked set to be closed by this evening, anyway.

"Anything, Fred?" He asked, quietly.

"More skirmishes, by the sounds of it." She replied, still working and catching up through her own Device. "I think they're digging in."

He nodded, weary, taking the caff out from the cafeteria box.

The Tosca had to know they'd be coming.

* * *

They came down once the sun had faded completely. He couldn't carry her down the steps, of course, so she'd been risen to climb back down.

Below under the protection of the bola roof, they exchanged quiet words; nothing much, just coordinating between brushing teeth and setting up the bedding. Ciardo hung his hammock off the hooks in the ceiling.

" _Padre_ _buonanotte."_

" _Buonanotte mia belle_."

Renza laid on her sheets, thinking of roses, waves and old Castilla. One of the Incubators slipped in to curl up by her side. Warm and fluffy, even if it didn't feel to weigh a thing.

On a whim, she let the soul on her finger reform in the gem it was supposed to be, tipping onto its side amongst the sheets along with her.

Though dark, the waves within were calm and still.

At peace.

She smiled, and closed her eyes.

* * *

Exhausted under blankets and rags, one person fell into a dreamless sleep with the reassuring sound of the waves.

Confused, one person stayed awake, watching the ceiling of her bedchambers, the dancing red light of her soul in her hands.

Hearts in their throats, two people made ready in the darkness of an underdock for the greatest catch of their lives.

With minds of steel, an army waited, poised on the wing within the _Polizern Judicia_.

Night had fallen.

* * *

Telepathy could be caught; maybe not the words, but definitely the use. Whispering was safer; nothing but sound after all. Paranoia? Totally, but it could never hurt. Not on something like _this._

"Y _ou got everything?_ "

Bobbing on the gentle waves, the waterskiff made more noise than they did; sloshing and undulating at the bottom of the underdocks.

" _Si, si, of course I have!"_ Jacque hissed back, hunched in the bottom of the boat, movements quick, sharp and agitated. _"You think I've never done this before?"_

No lights. They were working entirely off the false-monochrome nightvision their Jackets had been set up to provide. At least she'd stopped bleeding.

As gently and quietly as she could manage - which was a damn lot, thank you - Natalie slipped tenderly aboard the skiffy, a magically reinforced kitchen knife her only weapon.

Her pink mana blade had a tendency to stick out, after all.

Both their Jackets had been set up to be as stealthy as possible, forgoing protection in favour of undetectability. Jacque was mostly visible only because he had an IFF overlay overlaid in her vision; Natalie's was emulating their environment similarly. Like that lizard animal she'd seen on broadcasts once, that... whaddyacallit. Camo-lion or something.

...Oh, who cared. Their Jackets were doing a better job at hiding them anyway. Jacque muttered something, using his bulk to hide the light of his spellcast, and the same stealthing spread to their boat, turning them all into an indistinct blur upon the waves.

She switched off the nightvision for a second, and grinned. In the dark of the underdocks, they were completely invisible. Three months had totally been worth the time learning this spell off of him for herself.

She shifted her position, trying to get comfortable on her uninjured side.

" _You ready, chica?"_

" _Si, si, quit worryin'"_

She could tell Jacque was looking at her. _"I contacted the main group. They said "good luck!", but don't believe us, I think."_

" _Well, we'll show 'em."_ Argue her out of a membership after _this_.

" _..'f you're sure, chica."_

Another mutter, and the boat got underway.

* * *

The caff hadn't been enough. He almost stumbled boarding the catcher; Fred having to lend a hand to pull him in.

_...I'm getting too old for this._

"Everyone set up?" The flight-leader called, moving down the mage stack and checking harnesses. At the low heights they'd be flying, falling out wouldn't be dangerous given their Barrier Jackets, but with none of them fliers it would considerably disrupt the flight plan to wheel back and recover them, and hence wasn't particularly on anyone's to-do list.

A chorus of 'aye's ran down the line. He and Freiderike joined the choir.

Bizarrely, it suddenly occurred to him he hadn't been in a situation that required his Barrier Jacket - the proper, hardened one - for quite some time. Months, possibly. Still in the day colours too, by an oversight on his part; he switched it over to bluer, more muted hues at a mental command.

Freiderike hadn't had to remember, of course; her dark and bulky armoured Jacket fitting in almost seamlessly with the rest of the Dispatch squad save for the differing trim colours and the emblem on her chestplate.

He checked Diarmuid, now in it's buckler form. As Ispettore, they were there to snatch-grab as much information as they could as soon as the area was secure. Outside of the Investigative classes, Defence spells were the best he could claim to have a speciality in, along with the basic healing methods _everyone_ was supposed to know about. Freiderike's suite was more varied given their differing career paths, but hopefully they wouldn't have to rely on that; that was what the Dispatch squad was for.

A guttural shudder ran down the spine of the catcher bird as the primary anti-gravs whirred up to life. Evidentially, whoever had designed the thing had taken one look at the weight ratios and gone 'fuck it; it'll never fly'; if the anti-gravs kicked out, it wouldn't even glide.

He spared a glance at Freiderike, looking completely familiar with lounging in her harness waiting for takeoff. The anti-gravs on these things didn't kick out. Probably. Unless they were shot at, of course.

A small chirp, and a flicker in the corner of his eye announced a countdown being relayed through Diarmuid. Takeoff in ten, then. Flight crew and engineers scuttered away from the hangar line, as the rising chorus of spooling birds began to reach an unsteady, echoing whine.

He caught a few of them running right back, as another bird further down the line abruptly cut out, belching smoke, discharged mana and a lot of inventive cursing from those aboard. It was possible he wasn't the only part of the Judiciary feeling too old for this kind of thing.

Then a thud, and a lurch, and the sensation of his stomach dropping beneath him; the floor receded away as the rest of the flock kept steady around them. Like great migrating flocks; from the hangar bays, rooftops and the red tents of the Castillan units, the swarm rose around them; the whine of the anti-gravs becoming a unceasing roar.

The Polizern drifted away, and the Catchers of the Judiciary took wing.

* * *

They ran silent. They ran dark.

Valezorro had an underside, and not all of it was underwater; out in the bolas, at the city's edge, the stilt-houses had been raised up over what would originally have been shores and floodplains; the new city having outgrown the ruins of the old. It was even meant to be navigable; people stored their watercutters down here, as an easy access to the city's canalways. Not that trash and waste didn't - inevitably - find its way down here as well...

Personally, she was thankful for Barrier Jackets being what they were. Amongst other things, they could filter out the smell.

No lights. During the day people might spare the mana to keep the underside lanterns lit if they were in, just communal courtesy, but there was never any guarantee; any boat winding its way though here was expected to carry its own illumination. At this time of night, there were only one or two cutters working their way home, slow and steady; little winking pinpricks of yellow light dancing in the distance, bobbing on waves and intermittently hidden behind support blocks and poles.

That they were keeping their distance probably contributed.

She looked behind them, suppressing a grimace. The invisibility spell hid them, sure, but at best speed, the boat itself was leaving a painfully obvious wake in the water she'd never even thought about.

If they could have done a practise run...

But no. No time. If even _they_ knew the Venetis were Tosca, the Judi couldn't be far behind. With Whatshisname a Myedoan caster as well...

She resisted the urge to tap her fingers. There was a time window on this, and it was going to be small. They'd barely have days, even. Little choice but to rush in.

She wondered if the Veneti girl's dad had made that thing, then laughed the idea off as ridiculous.

" _How close are we?"_

" _They're on the shoreline."_ She'd had her Device set up a marker; a small pink circle overlaid in the distance. _"Nearly there. Left by 10 at the next support strut."_

Jacque grunted, and made the next turn. She shifted again, feeling a twinge in her side.

" _Stop that; don't rock the boat."_

" _-Sorry!"_

The little pink marker appeared to rise as they got close; the target point actually over their heads. This close, there wasn't really an 'underdock', just the bolas' own informal canals; struts and walkways; as exposed to the night sky as often as not. Their primary reason for sailing dark.

The marker was directly above, and the open sea directly ahead.

" _Alright, we're here."_

She couldn't see Jacque's nod as he brought the skiff to a halt and began to turn the boat around. _"Buena suerte. Hope you know what you're looking for."_

* * *

" _All birds, all birds, fan to targets and maintain safe distances. Fly dark say again; fly dark. Pop and run and maintain force mobility. Designating squadrons from sunrise; Uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque..."_

" _Ferdinand-Niner, assignment to Quattro Group per flight orders. Flock with birds for dockside residential targets; five_ _Magier-Ritter-Gruppen_ _in reserve. Good hunting."_

Orders and telepathic chatter came thick and fast, passing through their heads at the whims and organisation of the flight ops at station back in the battered Polizern, keeping everyone as informed as they needed to be.

Watching on Diarmuid's overlays, the Judiciary's response was spreading out in a wide, ragged circle. Denser at some parts - the ones heading for Commercial and the Residential Districts, thinner in others; towards Economic and Industrial. Their own little bird was just one highlighted dot in a swarm of many.

" _Go bright on first enemy contact. Recall on prisoner capacity, severely injured or mechanical failures."_

Rice Pascal, giving everyone their standing orders. One way to make an invigorating speech, he supposed...

" _These people have caused some very deep wounds these past few days. Lets put a stop to it."_

That sounded more like it. The Castillan contingent sounded particularly enthusiastic.

Domhnall breathed, as the catcher bird soared its ungainly bulk across the rooftops of the Commercial District out to the sea.

Arrest Ciardo Veneti. Take him in for questioning. They knew he had Tosca connections; he was sure he could gather enough evidence from the attacks on his daughter to prove a coercion case. Ciardo just had to concede, and give as many names as he could. They'd talked it over with Pascal, in the event the worst came to this. This wasn't how Valezorro and Caglica was meant to be. Not in the modern era.

The Delgado be damned; the Venetis wouldn't be left out to dry.

Even if they were about to crash down upon them.

* * *

The Veneti bola actually wasn't that bad. As far as holes to sleep in went, it was pretty well furbished all things considered. It had a roof, walls and everything.

Natalie picked through it all silently, one eye on the giant, gently swinging hammock taking up most of the room's space. Kaisers, she hadn't realised how _huge_ that girl's dad was. Maybe it was a shipbuilding thing.

Whatever it was, it was making things difficult. It took her a moment to spot where the kid even was; if her daddy's prize sail ever broke that kid was going to get her ankles squashed. Made her wince.

Edging around the sides, but being careful not to actually touch the sides, she had to play a very careful balancing game; reach Renza Veneti, without touching anything else. Veneti's giant of a father was one landmine she definitely didn't want set off.

Her injured side was objecting to the strain. Objecting viciously.

_D-Damn it..._

Suddenly, she saw it. A little back egg laying in front of the sleeping Veneti's face, lying there on the sheets just like that. A little further up, the white Summons creature was curled up and still.

...And watching her.

Natalie froze, hand outstretched. The creature never moved. Red eyes tracked hers with eerie accuracy despite the camouflage layer her Jacket was maintaining. Like a kid with a hand in the cookie jar; it had to have been watching her since the moment she came in.

Papa Veneti's hammock swung gently as the giant man rumbled in his sleep. Flakboards creaked beneath her feet. The creature's tail made a little flick.

Impasse.

* * *

Pulling himself up onto the dockside with a faint wheeze, Jacque Cassot tried rubbing feeling back into his hands, eyes on the skyline.

...This was such a terrible plan.

But the chica was injured, and knew something was going on. Tosca's actions made no sense, sure, but a Lost Logia...

Either it was crazy, and the Tosca were just being idiots on a lost cause - what was new? - or it would be true... and the Tosca would be crazy, and _still_ on a lost cause. The Church and the TSAB wouldn't exactly stand around at that, they had to know.

He shivered. The Valezi- mercy, _anyone_ born or living on Caglica - had to know the dangers of Lost Logia. The Ocean Crisis alone should have taught them that. _No-one_ would stand by anyone who made use of Logia amongst the Island Cities.

If the chica was wrong; a sigh of relief. If the chica was _right_... they'd have to dispose of it as soon as possible, before it could cause any more trouble. Tell the bosses they'd found nothing at all. It wasn't worth this. Chica would complain, but chica would _grow up._ If they were quiet, they could maybe even get it to the TSAB. That would be a job opportunity far beyond the Cosa damn chica was so all for.

...And what was taking her so long?

He edged around the side of the bola towards the main entrance facing the sea. Had she found it and run into trouble? Or had she not found it, and was still looking because there was nothing to find?

Kaisers, he hoped she wouldn't tear the place down if it couldn't be found. Wouldn't do much for the stealth, and the girl could get dangerous unpredictable at times. Go in, grab, get out; that was what he'd been told. Wasn't like there were multiple rooms.

A rising whine caught his ears, building on the waves. Somewhere in the distance, a flash of light as something exploded. Mage fire.

With a horrified sinking feeling, Jacque looked up, and saw what flight of birds had took wing.

" _Natalie!"_ He broadcast desperately. _"We have to go! Now!"_

" _Wha-?"_

" _Judi! Judi are here!"_

* * *

The white Summons still hadn't moved, even as Jacque's news came in.

" _-Shit!"_

Hesitation danced on a wire, then she made her move and snatched it.

The white Summons still never moved, even as she scarpered out the exit, Logia in hand.

* * *

" _Ferdinand-Niner, at target address. Making first past for drone dispersal."_

That would be his cue. At a mental command, Diarmuid's buckler shape opened up, and a horde of tiny drones barely above the size of a fingernail set loose, flocking out to swarm around the Veneti house and surrounding area; tiny cameras and sensors sweeping and leaving faint trails of mana in their wake. The Dispatch squad likewise took this opportunity for a once-over from the air, taking in the target building and surrounding rooftops.

An alarm flashed almost immediately. Diarmuid had spotted something.

_-Wait, what?_

Boat and two figures; underdock. Using a cheap camouflage on their Jackets, but showing up bright and clear on thermals. Amateurs.

" _Heads up!"_ he broadcast to the rest of the squad. _"I have eyes; two burglars with a boat in the underdock; they're making to cut and run."_

Two more explosions lit up the distance, and a lance of light abruptly tore into the sky off and away near Economic. The city was waking up.

Burglar One reached the boat; short person on the thermals, could be a kid. Burglar Two was...

... _Well he's suicidal._

The man had dropped his stealth, Barrier Jacket hardening and a maroon shield forming in front of him. Stand and fight; trying to let the other one escape? Diarmuid's drones were already trying to pick up on facial features.

[ **Duine neamhaitheanta** **, mo Rí** ]

...Unidentifiable. Typical.

" _Strikers, uh..."_ the flight-leader weighed in, _"we have kinda a crazy bastard, here. Proceed with caution."_

The catcher bird circled once, as Burglar One stumbled about their boat in confusion. Seemed to be injured. Telepathic conversation, by the looks of it, before the boat suddenly spurted away on its own power. He stuck as many drones on it as possible whilst he had the chance.

" _Burglar in the boat; running. Good speed."_ He advised. The catcher could follow from the air but with the boat beneath the city itself, the only way they could actually intercept was with a boat of their own, a flight mage they didn't have or some other specialist capable of moving at speed on water. None of those options available, as far as he was aware.

" _Strikers; drop and engage."_ The leader ordered. _"Ranged and high-eyes on cover; holding pattern and pursuit. You have the runner marked?"_

Last question directed at him. _"Yes. Runner is marked."_

" _We'll chase down later; priority target first."_

Fair enough. The target marker tore off into the distance across the water's surface.

There was a collective series of _thunks_ , and the catcher bird abruptly bobbed up into the air as the Strikers cut their harnesses loose; Freiderike amongst them. He watched; half with his eyes, half through Diarmuid; as the Strikers carefully surrounded the shielded man, trying to flank around the side. Freiderike was ignoring him completely; circling around the bola instead.

Six others, himself included, remained flying; ranged or support specialists. On his part, his role was more suited to information gathe-

Another alarm.

"- _Strikers,"_ he warned, _"be advised priority target is active, repeat active_ -"

 _Another_ alarm. He blinked at what his drones inside the bola were telling him.

" _-Medical emergency, we have a flatlined minor on the scene-_ " -what- " _-repeat, flatlined minor on the scene; no breathing, pulse is gone-_ "

There was a roar, of genuine heartbreak and fury.

The man behind the maroon shield barely got to turn before being slammed into by a giant human battering ram; the shield still orientated against the Strikers and facing in the wrong direction.

" _Fuck-"_ Flight-leader. _"Strikers, subdue!"_

The brawling mass of rage was abruptly lit up in a rainbow barrage; binds, shooters and non-lethal impactors all firing at once. The shield never stood a chance.

His heart in his throat; this mission had just gone spectacularly and unexpectedly wrong- _"Freiderike?"_

She'd gone inside the bola rather than get distracted by the melee; excellent call.

" _Not breathing. Vitals are down. No signs of- Scheisse, heart's stopped, can't restart-"_

" _Striker team; priority target suppressed, other target critical; crushed throat. Need medical and- aw shit, the neighbours-!"_

More bursts of light. More barrages and counter-fire.

What even _happened_ -

" _Ispettore Pinici, dropping groundside."_

He set his harness loose on mental command, and dropped the five feet or so to the bola roof. It creaked a little on his landing, his Jacket flaring with the impact.

" _Casualty; Renza Veneti; causes unclear. Can't resuscitate."_

Dropped to the level of the flakboards. Fred looked up, hunched over the extremely still girl lying amidst the sheets.

Jacket collapsed; Veneti was lying there in her emergency gear. No linker core output. In no sense a good sign.

Something very nearly caught him in the back of the head; a flash of coloured light that sizzled past his ear and impacted into the plaster wall, forcing him into an instinctive crouch. All the bola were suddenly waking up.

_...Shit._

His and Freiderike's eyes met. Diarmuid sprung loose at a mental command.

"Runner in the underdocks; marked and tagged. You're the better chaser; _go_."

She took it, she nodded, and she ran full sprint out past him across the walkways.

" _Ferninand-Niner, encountering high local resistance."_ Flight-leader, coordinating with the Polizern. _"Priority target acquired but situation is complex; advise?"_

" _Scoop up and pull out. Reserve teams have already been committed elsewhere. Withdraw."_

He grit his teeth. _"Ispettore Pinici; Ispettore Buhr on solo pursuit. Possible child-murder case."_

" _Judiciary understands, but cannot commit. Withdraw and resume investigations when situation is stable."_

...Damn it.

" _Strikers, clear landing zone; VTOL short-stop at dockside, all copy?"_

" _Copy."_

"Copy." He responded, feeling his teeth grind, stalking into the bola and pushing the still-swinging hammock to one side.

Renza Veneti lay there, quiet and still, completely unmoving. He'd warned her, but he'd never expected this. He wasn't even sure what 'this' _was._

" _Alright, boarding up- Ispettore!"_

He crouched down, and scooped her up. Lighter than expected. Still warm.

They'd need the autopsy report.

" _Coming_." He transmitted back, before turning on his heel and leaving the house.

* * *

And, unseen by everyone, the little white creature sat there and watched it all, tail a-swishing.


	8. For A Dime, The Dog Will Dance

She'd caught the resonance in the middle of crossing the roof of the Basilica. There'd been an inviting tip off about the towers up here... but all that flew out the window with the arrival of a new Puella Magi in town. Immediately, she'd changed course to scarper down towards the slumdocks, crossing the roofs and domes of Valezorro with boosted jumps and her own magical wires.

" _Oi, Kyubey! Thought you said there weren't any contracts around here!"_

The small, fluffy white creature was perching on her hat like gravity and wind could never topple it. What was crazier was that it seemed to be _right_. Magic had a fashion sense, who knew?

" _You are still the latest contract in this city."_ It confirmed, voice calmly neutral as she swung from building to building until she ran out of tall places to hook onto and just had to run. It was a little bizarre how little people seemed to notice, even with those new Air Cadets that Trari place was coming out with.

" _She just moved in then?"_

" _We don't know."_

She paused on the tip of a spire in Commercial, the Incubator's words halting her in her tracks in more ways than one.

" _What d'ya mean you don't know?"_

" _We don't know who the new arrival is. We are unable to explain their appearance."_

She growled, and kicked off the spire. No time to hang around then.

" _How come her gem's resonating anyway? We're way out of range for that!"_

" _I wouldn't know. The gem must be calling for attention for some reason."_

That uncomfortable feeling got worse.

" _...You mean like they want help, or like a challenge?"_

" _I wouldn't know."_

" _Can we even do that?"_

" _Evidently."_

She gritted her teeth, watching the coastline. Somewhere down there, amongst all the birds and bolas and watercutters, a Soul Gem was calling. It wasn't something she could see or hear; just an indescribable tug; a sense in her brain she couldn't put a finger on. Unfamiliar instincts and that faintly disconnected sense of soul magic interplaying to deliver a message of...

Uh...

Damn, she'd been doing this this long and it still made no sense.

" _Well? Hack it up fluff-ball, what's going on down there?"_

" _We don't know. I'm the closest Incubator in the area. You Puella are faster too."_

She imagined her hat sprouting a flashing pair of barca lights. _"Oh, gee, thanks."_

" _In any case, we will not understand what is happening until we get there."_

She sighed. _"Yeah... kinda figured that."_

Definitely keeping the arbalest out. Only smart to.

She hopped down the descending heights towards the sprawl of bola that had built up around the city's edges like crusts on a seaship. Valezorro was a weird place... not that Castilla had been any better, she supposed. At least it wasn't as crowded. And didn't smell of oil so bloody much.

The resonance was moving now; laterally from her perspective, with some damn impressive speed. If she didn't try to intercept it now, she'd never catch up.

Standing on the tip of a ship's mast, Roche Marcia chewed her lip, flipped a mental coin, and sped off after the runaway signal, Incubator perched merrily on her hat as she danced blazing yellow across the rooftops of Valezorro.

For all her quarry's speed, it didn't quite seem to know what to do with it; moving in sudden, insane bursts only to stop, falter and backtrack or stumble around in circles trying to find its place. She wasn't even sure how she could tell all this; the gem she was following just seemed to be emanating confusion in waves.

" _This signal seems most erratic."_ The Incubator observed with bland disinterest.

" _She's panicking, you idiot."_ Roche corrected mentally. She was catching up now, assuming the girl at the other end didn't fly off again. _"Are we in telepathy range yet?"_

" _In a mome-"_

The signal abruptly spurted off towards the Economic district; almost entirely the opposite direction. Roche let out a sigh of exasperation.

" _No."_ The Incubator concluded primly.

" _...Thanks, Kyubey."_

It took several similar bouts of movement and what felt like a full hour to finally catch her; the other girl taking an almost random, scattered route across the cityscape, with Roche several times _almost_ close enough to catch her by the telepathic coattails, only for her to hare off again. The girl looked to be slowing down over time, but damn if she couldn't cover distance fast...

By the time she finally caught up with her, the sun hung higher and Roche was caught between being impressed and wanting to wring her bloody neck.

" _She's in range."_ The Incubator notified her mid-leap.

" _-Hey what? Finally?"_ She switched to broadcasting desperately, _"Oi, you-!"_

The signal jumped, almost certainly about to run again only to stumble to a halt at the call. It still knocked her out of range.

Roche growled, covering the rooftops with a fresh burst of speed. At least she stayed still this time.

" _Oi! You! Whoever you are! Calm down, damn it!"_

" _W-Who is this?"_

" _Roche, just call me Roche. Y'gonna stop that thing with your gem or what?"_

" _-I'm sorry?"_

" _Don't 'sorry' me, I've chased you 'cross half the bloody city 'cause of that damn thing! Turn it off!"_

" _I-Is this Kyubey?"_

Roche paused, balanced improbably on a weather vane. Below, on the ground level of a street halfway into the Judicial district, a flicker of coral blue caught her eye.

" _...No. I'm a Puella Magi. Just like you are."_

The poor girl looked completely drenched, like she'd just taken a dip in the canals; shivering and frozen in a way that said a lot about how much her Jacket wasn't up to snuff. Roche dropped down in front of her, dismissing the arbalest, the sodden runaway just watching her in mute confusion the whole time, gem cradled in her hands and emitting a steady, regular pulse of light.

"...You must be new." Roche said.

The new girl nodded.

She held out a hand. "I'm Roche Marcia."

The new girl took it. "Renza Delgado."

And that was how they'd met.

* * *

The news had already broken; a name appearing on a list and making Holda automatically notify her. Articles were already scrolling down in her vision as she flicked through; skimmed. Some had more information. Some had less. Didn't matter. She desperately, desperately needed to _know_ -

RETALIATION - JUDICIARY STRIKES BACK AGAINST TOSCA TERRORIST FACTIONS.  
_-Il Valezitino Epoca, [J. Ratzi], 3 hours ago_

JUDICIARY ARRESTS 64; 27 DEAD CONFIRMED. FURTHER DISAPPEARANCES.  
_-La Citta Valezorro, [R. L. Ciar], 2 hours ago_

VALEZORRO UNREST CONTINUES: JUDICIARY ARRESTS 70; 60 DEAD.  
_-La Gazetta dello Caglicari, [P. Z-T. Lunes], 34 minutes ago_

Should she have been leaping across the skyline whilst flitting through the news sites? Probably not. But there wasn't a light in the stars bright enough that she'd attend school after an event like this.

One day. _One day_ ago she had wished her friend back to life, and Renza Veneti was already dead. Again. A name on a list. Hell, it had been less than a day even; it hadn't even been 26 hours!

And she'd promised her she'd _live_ , too.

 _It can't be like this_ , Odette though furiously, armour and plate rattling as she ran across the route to the sea. _I refuse to accept it!_

She wasn't even thinking about how she was getting there - she knew where Renza lived, even if her parents had forbidden her from entering that area again afterwards - vaulting rooftops and spires with equal ease; leaping on autopilot and seeming to just jump from foothold to foothold with an instinctive grace that would have left B and A-Rankers decidedly miffed. On some level she recognise it and yes, it was amazing, but that wasn't _important_ right now!

She only came to a halt when her run intersected a towering pillar of smoke. This... 'Puella' Jacket still disturbed her; it wouldn't filter out smells or temperature in the same way a Jacket would. Some instinct told her it simply didn't matter any more, but that was too absurd to be true... right?

In any case, the unfiltered acrid stench of burning fuel and explosively discharged mana cartridges; the energy still in the air like a crackle against her skin she'd definitely never been exposed to before; put her to a stop quite succinctly, a block or two out.

A roar in the air also slowly came to her attention. Shouting. Chanting. Cheering. The odd flicker of movement on the street just visible through the alleyways. Someone waving a blue flag.

There was a crowd down there. It didn't look like one of the buildings were on fire, but... the slump of that nearest roof looked decidedly unsafe.

Disturbed and thrown off track, she circled around for a better look.

One of those Judicial fliers - 'catchers' or whatever they were called; she vaguely remembered someone important complaining about them at her mother's last do - had smashed into the lower level of the slumping building. Blacked and burning; a mess of twisted metals and cracked polymers in a barely recognisable 'vehicular' shape, buried amidst shattered stone, meshwork and a tangle of ironwork support beams... and all covered and scrambled over by the cheering crowd.

There were tatters. Shreds and torn cloth. Bits of Judiciary uniforms - the flexible polymer plate they wore under their Jackets - being waved like banners and spears.

...She backed off quickly.

Well that was... that... where _was_ the Judiciary anyway? She stumbled off on autopilot, making her way down towards the shoreline, trying to catch the city centre over her shoulder.

The Judicial District had too many peals of smoke; the Polizern shrouded from sight. Not exactly a reassuring sign.

She swallowed, turning what facts she knew over in her mind from the skimming, the reports and her own general knowledge. She was friends with two of the Saint's Children; that _had_ to make her well informed, right? By the sounds of it, the Judiciary had tried making surgical strikes against the Tosca leadership in the late evening, only for...

Well, only for setting off everyone else in the process. Everyone had woken up to a war going on, right on their doorstops. The Church were already condemning it. It was entirely possible she was one of the few people who'd actually gotten any sleep that night, safe under the household shielding.

What a thing to miss.

In her inbox, there had been two other messages. One, from the Cadets, advising everyone to stay indoors and not get involved. One, from her mother, advising her to stay indoors and set the house security to it's maximal level.

Only one of those wishes had been adhered to.

...At least Samara was safe. No-one had attacked the Policlinico yet. Hopefully, nobody would prove that stupid. And it would force the Church out from its neutral stance, besides. Though with things like this...

The bola were coming into view now; she might have to slow down. Or be more careful. Maybe. She wasn't sure, none of her instincts were _telling_ her to, but a person in armour at these speeds _had_ to be bad on the shantytown roofs...

" _Ah, you're here."_

She nearly stumbled.

"Wait, Incubator?"

She looked over her shoulder. Was he following her?

"Where are you?"

" _The Veneti household."_

...How did he get there first? Wait- no, that hardly mattered-

"Where's Renza?!" She demanded.

" _We don't know."_

She stalled.

" _What do you mean you don't know!"_

" _We last tracked her being taken into the Commercial District by Natalie Pincette. After that, contact was lost."_

Growling, she kicked off the rooftop and burst across the bolas, leaping from open rooftop to open rooftop, ideas of secrecy gone with the wind.

" _How."_

" _The body we were tracking them with was destroyed. Daemon involvement would be the most statistically probable reason."_

The damn thing sounded... _disappointed_ more than anything else. Like a sad parent fussing over spilt milk. Were he right in front of her she was quite sure she'd have punted him all the way into the sea.

She gritted her teeth. Given her proximity to the shoreline, that wouldn't even be hard.

" _What happened last night?_ " She called. " _You even know that much?"_

" _I do, and I don't."_

A bola roof, a weather vane, a mast from a shore-side berth and-

_-There!_

It... honestly didn't look that different from all of the others. She only recognised it because Holda was highlighting it for her.

[ **Man bekommt leicht verloren.** ]

_...And you can shut up as well._

She skidded to a halt outside the open doorway, as the little white creature walked calmly into view from the shadows inside.

"Well?" She asked. Petals from Holda's rose shield blew false trails around her, the polearm itself held loose and ready in one hand. "What happened here?"

" _Why it happened is beyond our ability to explain. Humans act too quickly on incomplete information."_

She gritted her teeth, gripping the polearm tighter as she waited for him to get on with it.

" _This house was entered late in the evening, and Renza was stolen from it. This coincided with the actions of the local Judiciary, resulting in the current situation."_

She looked about the bola; it... always depressed her to try thinking of it as a house. No windows, just holes in the walls. It didn't even have a _door;_ a large scrap of red cloth hung limply from one corner of the main entrance a bit like it was trying to be a curtain, but had given up half-way through. She wasn't even sure wh-

 _Wait_.

She ducked inside - mentally apologising for entering uninvited - and checked.

A hook, on the opposite end of the entrance, with a scrap of red fabric still caught on it.

_This was torn aside._

She moved in a further step.

Another, almost gigantic, sheet of fabric took up most of the floorspace, hung half-suspended from one corner as well. Clean, but well worn and-

... _This is a sail, isn't it? That's sail material._

Night time. This happened at night time.

_-It's a hammock. Ciardo._

A promise on a rooftop. "-Incubator! What happened to Ciardo?"

" _He went with the Judiciary."_

She nodded. Safe, then.

The place... inside actually wasn't that much of a mess; the curtain and the hammock were the only things damaged or... misplaced. It was hard to tell what sort of order this place had - what went where, when - but she was sure it would have made sense to the Venetis. She couldn't judge... and couldn't draw any conclusions from it, either.

She swallowed. What was she even doing? This was wasting time. Incubator had been sitting outside, his tail swishing side-to-side.

"Describe what happened." She told him.

" _Natalie Pincette arrived with a conspirator by boat, entered, stole Renza, and left by boat."_

"The Judiciary?"

" _Arrived as she was leaving. This alerted Ciardo Veneti, and lead to her conspirator's capture."_

A conspirator, huh. "And where are they?"

" _The Judiciary morgue."_

She blanched. "-What?"

" _His throat was crushed, resulting in-"_

She paled, thinking of the sirens and fires still going on outside. "Alright, alright. Don't... you don't need to talk about that."

She shuddered, as Incubator went silent. After a few seconds breathing, she walked back out.

The surrounding area showed far more signs of damage. She grimaced, keeping an eye on her footing after one of the floorpieces - broken in half - lurched under her weight. Pockmarks and holes littered the walls. Punched in. Mage shots.

_Non-lethal suppressors. No real patterns..._

She paused, thinking. It was still early morning, and if this had happened at midnight, there might still be a few traces-

Faster than thought, and far faster than her ability to even invoke the spell out loud, Holda flared, a crimson flame consuming several of the rose petals as her vision suddenly snapped in _focus._

She startled, but still felt oddly unsurprised. Holda had done had exactly what she'd wanted it to, so what was- no that wasn't-

Grimacing, she forced it out of her mind. _Later._ It was getting quite the chorus. She'd deal with that problem _later._

The real world pushed back into monochrome, the traces of mana in the air and embedded into the damaged walls shone in their casters' individual colours, turning the crime scene into almost an impromptu art installation. Pretty, almost. There actually were shows like that, along the promenades in Commercial, but she'd never had a chance to attend...

She shook herself, and concentrated. And came to a very unpleasant conclusion.

"...There's far too many people here." She muttered. Too many colours. Too much information. Damn it all, there were mana traces _everywhere..._

"Incubator? What caused all this?"

" _The arrival of the Judiciary incited a riot."_

...She thought back to that crashed catcher. Of the smoke trails now rivalling the skyscrapers in numbers. _Of course they did._

Acting on a complete whim, she turned and looked at the small, furry creature.

[ **Bemalte Blumen duften nicht.** ]

...No traces. But his eyes still shone red despite the monochrome. Almost as if they were superimposed. She shuddered and turned quickly away.

Looking around quickly, she could make a guess and which trails were probably Ciardo's and which trails were probably Renza's; old tracks, old traces; it looked like Renza was the one who used their outdoor fish grill, whilst Ciardo powered their cold shill for example. Other than that though...

_...I can't make any sense of this..._

She growled, dispelling the mana-sight mentally (the _proper_ way of doing it), and pulled back up the newsfeeds, searching for any kind of clue.

"You said Renza was stolen, correct?"

" _Yes."_

"How?"

" _She was carried."_

She spared the Incubator a glance out of sheer confusion.

"Wouldn't that wake her up?"

" _Not necessarily."_

"Where was the boat, anyway?" _I should have asked that sooner-_

" _The underdock. Against the shoreline."_

There was an odd, mental transmission, and she felt her eyes almost compelled to look at a certain spot; a gap in the boardings and external paths. Directly behind Renza's bola.

"...Did you just send that?"

" _Yes. We find it simpler when conveying locational information."_

"...Ask permission next time."

" _Of course."_

She glanced at it again. That sounded like a snippet of conversation it had played out many, _many_ times before. Huffing, polearm held outward, she moved out towards the back of the bola.

Renza, stolen... to a boat.

Actually, wasn't 'stolen' the wrong word for this? It should be 'kidnapping', shouldn't it? She gave it another look. The Incubator didn't _seem_ to have any struggles with languages...

She went back to the news reports, quietly noting the Incubator's tail swishing in the background.

"...Incubator."

" _Yes?"_

"...Renza Veneti is listed as dead. _Confirmed_ dead."

She was going down the list she'd found in the _La Citta Valezorro_ , which was apparently trying to keep up to date. New casualty lists and statuses kept popping in, even as she watched.

" _They would think that, yes. Their information is, again, incomplete."_

She frowned.

"To be confirmed, wouldn't she be in the Policlinico morgue?" Not exactly a question.

" _Oh."_ The Incubator tilted its head, quite unconcerned. _"That's not Renza."_

Odi stared.

* * *

This place felt like everywhere, and this place felt like nowhere.

"Not going to take a seat?" Roche asked, sipping from that tacky tea set again.

Renza blinked. An empty white rooftop café, air light and clean, with white tables, white chairs, white sun-shades. All unified in texture and shade, to the point only the blue shadows gave away their shapes, set below a cerulean sky above a cerulean sea.

The exception being the hanging curtains, which hung a rich, rich red.

Roche kicked the chair opposite her under the table. "Seriously kid, take a seat; y'got a while anyway."

Still staring, Renza sat down.

"...What happened?"

Roche laughed, hat tilted jauntily. "Good question, princess! Not too sure how to describe it myself!"

About them, pure white gulls took wing; flying and flocking in suspiciously geometric patterns. The sky reflected the sea reflecting the sky, stretching out to a horizon, feeling both an arm's length and an infinity away.

"Is this a daemon barrier?"

"Not quite." Roche sipped. "Don't worry, this place will never harm you."

She blinked, realising it felt true; the sense of peace and solitude in this place made the idea of her being hurt here almost anathema. An inherent contradiction. Like a warm blanket being draped over her shoulders. Calming, even.

...It still didn't explain what it _was._

"Some dimensional bubble, maybe?" She hazarded, looking around. Though it definitely had the tell-tale signs of Soul Magic. This place felt too... metaphorical. "What is it?"

A shrug that set the feather bouncing. " _Yours_ , for a start. Think of it like a temple of sorts."

She frowned. "You mean like the Basilica?"

Roche waved her off. "Nah, somethin' older. Kinda. Eh. I don't know the word either." She sighed. Then paused when something occurred to her. "-Ain't dimensional crap too. Seriously, it don't really matter. Y' got separated from your soul gem, so... here we are."

Renza blinked, staring about at all the whites and blues. And the red. "We're _inside_ it?"

Another indecisive hand gesture. "Still ain't quite the right word..."

She huffed. "Well what _is_ it then?"

Roche could only shrug, sipping again. "Place your soul is, I guess."

...She sighed, and took the opposite seat. The solid white never creaked and felt like marble to sit on. "So it's my Soul Gem then. I'm trapped inside my Soul Gem and I'm dreaming, huh?"

"More or less."

Renza groaned, letting herself just collapse against the table. It didn't feel much like anything either.

...What the hell even happened?

Roche chuckled, breaking her reverie. "Heh. Dreamin'." Cracked a grin. "So y' dream of me, huh?"

She looked up, confused. "-Huh?"

"Well," Roche waved an arm lazily, "mean _I'm honoured_ 'f course-"

She blinked at her. "...You fell in the canals, Roche."

Of course she dreamed about that.

A wince, as Roche's cheerfulness jarred to a halt. She almost deflated right before her eyes. "Y-yeah... sorry about that. Didn't mean t'leave ya that way."

She fiddled with her own cup, watching as it filled of its own accord. "Nobody ever means to go."

"Well..." Roche squirmed, "...even so."

"I know."

They stayed that way, as the gulls flocked geometrically overhead. She watched them swivel and turn, their reflections rippling inside her cup. If this wasn't a dream, and she herself wasn't dead... and more importantly, if this was _her_ soul gem...

_Then there's one thing that doesn't make any sense._

"...Roche?" She asked, abruptly. "Why are you here?"

...Roche laughed, a little sad.

* * *

The Docks hadn't taken the morning well either.

"Ay ay, thought storm not landing here yet?"

One hand keeping the sunhat from blowing off, the other loose and free, a young and indescribable girl stepped off a boat at one of the primary Residential harbours. Others were hustling and bustling, a chaotic, vaguely ordered stream of humanity and all its attending belongings, but the girl didn't carry anything else. All she had was that unusually pale skin, that white, flowing dress and that spectacular floppy sunhat, flapping in the breeze.

Ahead, the city of Valezorro still seemed to be burning.

" _It hasn't."_

"Hmm..." She looked over her shoulder. The grey clouds of thunderstorms and rain were still a dark splotch on the horizon. Distant, but growing.

" _Tak_ , has not."

Around them, the sea of people seemed to part; like a rock falling through the sea. She waltzed through them; an easy, bare-footed, dancing grace. The taste in the air had her clicking her tongue.

" _Where will you be going now?"_

"Hmm? Well, find local girl first, yes?"

If anyone thought the young girl in white talking to herself aloud was odd, no-one commented. Or even seemed to notice.

" _That might be harder. The situation has deteriorated faster than predicted."_

"Aa~ aa~, is still local girl, yes?"

...A pause. _"There is still a local Puella Magi, yes."_

She sighed, and gave up on the local tongue.

" _I meant, is the local Puella still here? The original one?"_

" _In a sense."_ The Incubator - wherever it was - switched languages perfectly; no trace of accent in either speech.

"Elaborate."

" _Her soul gem has been separated."_

Grimace. _"_...Ah. Theft? Loss? Idiocy?"

" _Theft."_

"Unlucky girl."

" _Events are still within statistical probabilities."_

"With you, that means absolutely nothing."

The Incubator did not bother to reply.

Sighing theatrically, she danced her way through the crowd. Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere- ah!

A tourism official. Mind heavy with panic and tension. Too many people, too many crowds. Fear of bombs. Fear of riots. Fear of the "Judi". Fear for his job. Fear for the man who should be home but was instead in the Poli... Polcli... Big Hospital Place. Also - and more relevantly - knew the city inside out. Part of his job.

Apart from all the stress, that felt just about perfect.

She weaved through the crowd like a fish through water; somehow ignored, somehow never colliding. When she slid in to the front of the queue, nobody seemed to object.

"Hello! Greetings! Nice day!"

The tourist official blinked, and tried to reorientate himself in the conversation. The person he'd been shouting with just seemed to fade out; the curse on his lips blankly dying away.

She jumped up onto his desk, one hand keeping the hat on whilst her legs dangled loose and free.

"To interrupt is bad, but! Where is hospital? Where is..." what was the word, what was the word, what was the word- ah, screw it, "criminal hurting people?" That should be close enough.

The man blinked passively.

"The Policlinico Serenita?" He pointed. "It's a big domed structure near the centre, north of the Basilica; can't miss it. The Judiciary have their own district west; very busy. Look for the fliers and a large square structure."

...So many words she would never be able to pronounce. She beamed anyway. "Thank you, thank you!"

His eyes seemed to cloud slightly. "Are you looking for your parents?"

"No, no;" quite casual; "parents are dead." She jumped off the desk, reorientating to face him again with a twirl. "Thank you! Sorry for trouble!"

The man blinked, bemused. "It's no trouble at all."

She took a bow.

"-Ah!" That reminded her!

With one last hop up onto the desk (once again interrupting the previous conversation before it could even resume), she flicked the official on the forehead.

"Worries, worries! Fly away!"

The man blinked, eyes losing focus as if deeply lost in thought.

There, job done. Time to move on.

" _You shouldn't have done that."_ The Incubator reprimanded her, as they were walking away through the crowd.

"No, I should."

" _If he remembers you, it will be problematic."_

She turned. At the desk, the official was little more happy, a little less stressed; the argument a little less loud. The lines just seemed to be moving along one little bit faster, like grease on wheels.

"No," she said clinically, "he won't."

* * *

Natalie Pincette ran with ice in her hands.

Pale and exhausted, once the Judiciary came in - _why the fuck did the Judiciary come in_ \- she'd ran and ran and hadn't stopped running. Ditched the boat; being tracked. Had to run, run and _fucking run_ with that Judi asshole on her tail the entire damn way.

She stumbled, slumping against a trashcan, chest burning. A dull, numbing ache infused her legs and arms; the consequences of taking too many hard landings and making too many mana-assisted jumps in too short a time. She hadn't had to run like that since...

An explosion like a thunderclap, somewhere down the street. The trash in the alleyway shuddered and rattled.

_-Shit-_

Shouts. Chanting. _Rioting._

She scrambled, dragging herself up against the corner of the alleyway. Street out looked deceptively clear; trash and rubble; must be around the corner.

She made her Jacket material into a mirror on her free hand, and cautiously poked it around the lip.

Crowds. Rioters. Under a blue flag. _Fuck_.

She almost rose to flee when the reason behind the thunderclaps became clear. The very air _roared,_ pressure forced into her ears, roof tiles smashing down around her and ringing off her Jacket like glass, as a bulbous, brick-like catcher bird screamed ominously above. Black, _big,_ heavy and terrifying.

She couldn't even hear her own scream.

The roar passed overhead, making the walls shudder in its wake, then the flashes of light and explosions glared out the sun with the full spectrum of mage-fire. Spitting binds and suppressors indiscriminately into the crowds below.

It was impossible to remember it was all non-lethal though the smoke, screams and searing light. The catcher dived, sweeping its bulk down into crowd as the light reached it's peak and-

Silence.

So suddenly, like a light-switch flicking off, leaving the pounding of her heart and the rustle of street trash caught upon the wind. It almost felt physically jarring, having it cut out like that. As if the seconds during which the transition took place had been stolen away.

...After a few moments, she peered out again, peeking the mirror out past the wall.

Empty. Devoid of life. She breathed. The Judi must have shunted everyone over into a barrier so they could blow them up safely without setting even _more_ of their city on fire.

She swallowed, taking the chance as she'd get it. Shattered tiles crunched under her feet as she cut across the now deserted street. A glance over her shoulder - no-one, no trace, no Judi - and she kept running.

Where she even was anymore was getting beyond her guess. The buildings rose too high, clung to the edge of the canalways too tightly. Couldn't see the skyline. Wherever the hell the Basilica was, it was no-where near here. New Town, probably, on the outskirts somewhere. Maybe. Shit, still too close to the shore-

She honestly couldn't say when it would feel safe to stop. Already, she was limited. She barely had the strength and mana reserves to hop canals anymore; that alone limited her to the bridges and there would be checkpoints, Tosca or Judi by now...

She slumped into the hollow of a doorway, out of sight in an alleyway. Had to breathe.

Something prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. Something in the air. Some kind of brassy, _familiar_ hum.

The ice in her hands felt physically painful.

She ran.

* * *

Thankfully, the person on guard knew him this time. Without Diarmuid to do it for him, all these constant security checks were getting tiresome. Just being waved through was a mercy.

He sighed, slouching into the medical tent. Right outside, the towering Polizern buzzed and blared; the damaged corner still not structurally confirmed, but a number of the barca and catcher bays still in use - not to mention the central mainframes.

Inside the tent was quieter; an effect of noise dampening spells and nothing else.

A channel had been left through the middle that didn't have beds in it, making for a de facto central corridor. He had to dodge past a pair of hurrying nurses just to get in. Men and women, some still using armoured Jacket configurations, some not, all laid out and stacked as closely together as possible. With the Policlinico overflowing and unsecurable and the Polizern's _actual_ medical bays still out of action, this was what served as the Judiciary's medical wing right now.

He tried to keep to one side, trying to get a good look down the 'corridor'.

_...I have no idea where she is._

He shuffled past an orderly and started manoeuvring his way down the channel. At least his civ Device still worked - nothing more than a bulky, featureless block he kept on a chain around his neck - or even finding the right tent would have been completely impossible.

...He could stop and ask someone, he supposed, but given everyone clearly had a million things to get done, having to explain why he didn't have a Judicial authorised Device to look it up for him along with all the security checks they'd be _required_ to take...

No, not worth wasting their time. He knew he had the right tent at least; he'd take it from here.

Working his way down the line, it was next to impossible not to note the various injuries and wounds being picked up. Stabs, broken limbs, head wounds... Everyone in here would be the Judiciary's own casualties; obviously sharing tents with suspects injured when they were reeled in (likely 'most of them', by this point) was hardly viewed as an intelligent decision. Still, the Polizern had the staff and equipment to serve as the Policlinico if it had to... just not quite on the same scale. Or whilst the Polizern itself was half closed off due to structural damage. That didn't really help either.

" _Hey."_

He blinked, trying to squint up and down the rows. Too many people; fussing nurses, cursing doctors. Too much movement.

" _Over here."_

A green triangle highlighted in his vision. Ah.

He made his way down the rows, keeping out of everyone's way as best possible. Freiderike watched him approaching with a bemused eye, flicking lazily through something on a screen her Device was projecting; invisible to everyone else. Suspended in the air, each leg was encased in a large, bulky, white medical Device, mana humming away inside and doing its work behind glare shields to stop the light disturbing anyone else.

Domhnall sighed. There wasn't even enough room for a chair; everyone packed in that tightly. He had to squeeze up against the bed end just to avoid blocking the corridor.

" _So."_ He sent, about the only way to keep the conversation private.

" _Yep."_ Fred agreed.

She groaned, collapsed back into the cot and let out an explosive breath.

" _Fucking riots."_

" _How bad?"_

" _Bones; just a lay-up for a few days. Still. Fuck."_

He nodded.

" _Get anything from the other guy at least?"_ Fred asked.

He could only shake his head. _"Died in critical; couldn't get to the Policlinico in time. Oxygen starvation to the brain. Mr. Veneti's under arrest, of course."_

" _...Saint's Mercy."_

He snorted. _"Yeah." Or not, in this case._

" _The kid?"_

" _Morgue. No cause of death yet that I've heard."_

Fred looked at him blearily for a second, then made a little 'oh' sound and raised her arm.

" _Here."_

He took it. _"Thanks."_

Diarmuid's black box transferred itself between their forearms with a faint scatter of prismatic light; switching between their linker cores for its mana source.

[ **Dia duit, mo rí. You have 14 unread messages.** ]

...He kind of laughed, awkwardly.

" _They're not sending us out alone any more; any of us."_ He told her. _"We'll probably be locked in the Polizern from here on in."_ PolicingValezorro was the Dispatch Squads' game now.

Fred snorted. _"I can believe it. It's gone insane out there... if that catcher hadn't dropped in when it did..."_ She breathed. _"Stars above, how did this city get so bad as this?"_

All he could do was shake his head. Even during the Ocean Crisis... he may not have been Judiciary then - there hadn't _been_ a Judiciary back then - but even with the _sea_ at everyone's throats...

...It hadn't been as bad as this.

He sighed hollowly, casting his gaze out to that sliver of sky through the tent's front entrance.

And that storm was still oncoming.

* * *

"So where is she?" Odette asked desperately, jumping across the rooftops on a direct line for the Basilica Vallieu. "Where's the..." it still felt wrong to say it, "...Soul Gem?"

The Incubator, for its part, was simply sat on her shoulder, completely unphased by the pace she was instinctively making, ears flapping around in the wind.

" _We don't know."_

" _-What do you mean you don't know?!"_

" _We don't know."_ The damn thing reiterated calmly. _"The Incubator responsible for tailing her was intercepted early in the chase. It has been destroyed."_

She stared at it, sitting on her shoulder. "By what? The-" what had Renza called them- "Daemons?"

" _We assume so. It was very abrupt."_

A chill settled in. Her path across the rooftops was already on auto-pilot.

"...So is Renza dead then?" She whispered, softly. "Completely?"

" _No."_

"How can you be sure?"

" _We'd know."_ Its voice held a certain certainty. It felt better not to ask why.

...Some reassurance, at least.

They crossed rooftops and canalways, the buildings rising higher the further in towards the Basilica and the Old City. The Church didn't have a District _officially_ , but calling this area the Ecclesiastical zone wasn't exactly uncommon. Her eyes automatically traced the local skyline for a familiar, triangular building. The training house of the local _Sankt Geistlichkeit Zauberitterkadetten._

" _We should stop here."_ The Incubator told her, suddenly.

She skidded to halt, cringing mentally as her deceleration kicked some tiles off the Sankt Library's roof. "-What?"

The Incubator was sitting perfectly still. _"We should wait."_

"...Wait?" She repeated, uncomprehending.

" _Yes."_

"...Why?"

" _It is the most efficient place to stop."_

She blinked at it, resisting the urge to growl. "...Incubator, _why_ are we sto-"

" _-Privet! Chaírete! Cześć! Słyszysz mnie?"_

-That _definitely_ hadn't been the Incubator. She spun, finally dislodging the Incubator on her shoulder, looking for the source of the messages-

" _Jak ma Pani na imię?"_

Holda wasn't saying anything about incoming messages - hadn't even warned her at all - was this some Puella thing-

" _Czy mówisz po povetsku?"_

How was she supposed to message _back-_ "I- I can't understand what you're saying!" She broadcast, desperately.

" _...Haaa~ah. Belkanye? Is poor, will try. Are local girl, yes?"_

That... accent made her wince but she nodded. Then realised that was stupid- "Yes?"

" _Tak, tak... ah- Yes. 'Zher Gutte'."_

The skyline from the Sankt Library was clear; no-one approaching she could see. Just smoke and the odd black catcher bird further out - and that blot-like oncoming storm. She scrambled down the side of the pitching to the crenellations, hoping to look over the-

A purple scarf of a frankly _absurd_ length abruptly darted up over the side to coil itself around the head of the nearest statue of a Sankt Kaiser, doing it's best impression of a sentient climbing rope. Pulling sharply taunt, she was almost afraid the stone figure would break off when its owner abruptly crested the side.

A girl barely up to her shoulders, in pure, flowing white. Her costume was blatantly foreign; some heavy winter thing, covered in golden embroidery; etches of winter, of great trees, of symbols in languages she only vaguely recognised. The silver cross-armed swordstaff looked meant for carrying banners, with that kind of length.

The entire ensemble was... familiar-ish, in the Caglican pop-culture, and would be recognised wherever you went in Dimensional Space, but it was so completely unexpected it took her a moment to even place it. The girl dusted off, sniffing the air and clicking her tongue with an odd look on her face.

"...You're _Praovéan?"_ Odette asked, astounded. This girl had to be a long, _long_ way from home...

"Eh." the girl replied, scarf automatically retracting and coiling back around her neck in a way that made disturbingly clear its 'length' had become something of an abstract concept. "Old border; Yeventine. Know Povetsk?"

...Odette shook her head; she hadn't heard of it. The foreign girl gave a put-upon sigh.

The foreigner straightened up, still only coming up to her shoulders in a way that made her vaguely want to stand taller. Faintly purple hair proved another marker that this wasn't someone from around here; this couldn't be someone from Caglica at all.

It wasn't exactly the first time she'd meant someone from across the dimensional seas, but usually they were... well, in one of her mother's business parties, not on the Sankt Library's roof. And not _short._

_And a lot more local than Praové..._

The foreigner was raising her eyebrows. Odette belatedly remembered her manners.

"-A-Ah! I'm Odette! Odette Camarr, of the Camarr artificer line."

The foreigner bowed, one knee before the other in the classic Praovéan style, amused. "I am Halina; please call me 'Halushia'. No titles, very sad."

Surprisingly informal, given the ritualised bow... or was that some Praovéan thing? Odette blinked at the invitation. "...Odi, then."

Halushia smiled. "Odya!"

...She winced, but had a feeling she was going to have to live with that. The foreign girl grinned. "Odya, yes! It is nice to meet you!"

Their word-choice and inflection felt oddly stilted - suspiciously, Odette thought, like it had been cribbed from a guide book on the way in. At least some communication was better than no communication, she supposed.

"Can I ask a question?"

" _Ta_ \- ah, yes!"

"Why have you come to Valezorro?"

"Ah." Halushia smiled at her sadly; an odd expression, a bit like a mother trying to figure out what to do with a child. Completely bizarre on someone so blatantly younger than her. "White rat not say anything?"

- _White...?_

Frowning, she glanced aside at the creature still sitting on the roof tiles. The Incubator gave absolutely no indication it had just been casually insulted, calmly licking its own tail. "...No?"

" _Halina is a sub-contractor."_ The little white thing spoke up suddenly as she watched, making her jump slightly from the surprise. _"She came here at my request."_

"Can I ask why?" She asked, glancing between the two.

" _Yes."_ The Incubator said simply, making Halushia chuckle.

And then it didn't say anything else.

"...Why did you call her here?" Odette bit out, trying not to glare at the foreign girl.

"Is secret keeping, yes?" Halushia replied cheerfully. "I keep big secret!"

...Huh?

Her confusion must have shown on her face, as Halushia floundered. "Well, am... ack, the word..."

There was an odd, slightly surreal moment as the foreign Praovéan snapped her fingers and made a few wild, abortive hand gestures. The Incubator, meanwhile, silently swished its tail.

"...Um-" Odette began.

"Transm- _nie,_ teleport?" The foreigner muttered to herself. " _Nie nie, telepatia..._ Telepatia?"

Odette stared, confused. "...You mean telepathy?"

But what did... what did _telepathy_ have to do with keeping secrets? Sending people long distance messages was the _inverse_ of keeping secrets!

Halushia levelled a glare. "...Not _that_ telepathy, _Belkanye."_

Odi huffed. "Well, what do you mean!"

Halushia grinned, leaning in closer despite her stature. " _Wspomnienia_. _Myśli_. I read, I change, I..." -she visibly struggled a second, trying to tease out the right word- "...paint with? Drawing? Yes?"

That last question was directed at the Incubator, who gave a little nod. Mercifully, it also took up the explanations.

" _There was an incident several days ago that put the secrecy of the Puella Magi in danger. I called her in to cover the tracks."_

Odi boggled. "Wait, you edit _memories?!_ "

" _Tak!_ " Halushia replied far too cheerfully, snapping her fingers. "Memory! Is the word, ' _Zher Gutte!'_ "

She stumbled backwards, still somehow finding instinctive footing on the Library's slate roof. "That's impossible!" Something out of bad science fiction! " _How?_ "

...Halina smiled thinly, bouncing the sword-staff on her shoulder. _"Trochę sadzonka,_ am Puella Magi. Stupid question, yes?"

Odette stammered. "Even so-!"

...The foreigner sighed, wearily. "Can show you, hm?"

"Hey, wait-!"

The swordstaff flicked around in her hand, unnaturally fast, unnaturally precise for someone so young wielding a weapon that long. She almost managed to call out when-

-A heavy, wooden air.

Odette blinked. It should have been summer, yet for all that her mind found itself going to straight to autumn and falling leaves. Branches, whispering in the breeze. The rustle of falling undergrowth and a pale, wan sun in the sky.

A step backwards met earth and soil. Crunching leaves. Drifting snow. _Trees._ Songbirds - not gulls, for the first time in her life - sung in the distance. Another world.

-And like a snuffed flame, it collapsed; the world focusing back to that singular point on the Sankt Library's rooftop. Of seas and ocean winds and crying gulls. The swordstaff, the coat and scarf; all had disappeared, vanishing down into the single, violet gem balanced with unnatural stability on the tip of a single finger.

"So. Lie?" Halina asked with a _knowing_ smile, the light of her soul dancing between them. "Please, _proszę,_ speak."

Odette swallowed.

Then the foreigner burst back into light; costume reforming in a flash as she leaned back on her suddenly re-appearing swordstaff; back to that easy, cheerful grin.

"But not point, yes? Is local girl!"

"...Me?"

"Nye- eh, no. Other. First."

She blinked. "-Renza!?"

The foreign girl nodded, hair bouncing. "Ha-hm."

Odette slumped, wearily. "You know?" And now she had to say it. "She's, uh..."

"Stolen." The foreigner finished, looking out across the skyline. "Yes."

Odi grimaced. It felt like a failure, admitting it, like she should have been there, or kept watch or something. Somehow.

It wasn't as if her friend had even been in a good state of mind at the time. Actually... even less chance of that now. And with... what she'd seen on that rooftop...

She spared the Incubator a glance. It was still watching the conversation placidly, still fixed in it's smile. Still calm and unconcerned.

She shuddered.

Halushia released a sigh, standing forward and yanking the sword-staff blade back out of the roof tiles. Part of Odette cringed slightly for the damage they were doing to the Library roof.

" _Aj!_ " The foreigner called out, pityingly. "So find Veneti girl, yes?"

Something in that girl's gaze felt far too much like she was being read like a book.

"Bad not to, yes?"

Odette swallowed, nodding.

Halushia smiled, clapping her hands together. "So! Should talk! Stolen gem, yes?"

She waved a hand out across the city. "Let us go."

* * *

She twirled the tea in her cup into lazy patterns. You could actually do that in here.

"So... what now?"

Roche shrugged. "Guess you're a little stuck, princess."

"...Don't call me that."

"-Heh, sorry."

Renza let out a weary sigh. It was... almost nice, being here. Almost calming. Almost as if she could relax, and have all her worries fade away...

... _But_.

"...I messed up, Roche."

That feather in that hat bounced. "Hm?"

She grimaced, sinking uncomfortably into her seat. "Ciardo. I messed up. I got myself injured, and now..."

Roche looked at her, pitying. "He's worryin'?"

" _...Si."_

An empty silence, for a problem without an answer. Renza returned to her cup.

"I still think about it, you know?" She spoke softly. "What would have happened to that girl had I never broken into her life. Would she have been happy, lived long? Would her life have even existed?"

Twirled the patterns.

"Did my wish create Renza Veneti, or did my wish overwrite Renza Veneti? I don't know what to say. Is Renza Delgado getting to know her father for the first time, or has she stolen his daughter away from him? They're not questions I know how to answer."

Roche shrugged. "So don't."

...She glared at her over the rim of her cup.

Roche just shrugged again, completely unflappable. "No, seriously. You think anyone's gonna answer that? There's gonna be some crusty old professor somewhere with a book on it? There ain't an answer, so pick what's best."

Renza looked away.

Her friend threw her arms out wide abruptly, flashing a dazzling, easy grin. "Renza Delgado gets the life she never had, meets the parent she never had, makes all the awesome friends she never had! Don't that just sound spectacular?" She laughed. "Like, 'Wish come true!', right?"

She grimaced, voice tired. "I lost some things too, Roche."

"I know, I know, but what y'gained ain't stopped existin', right?"

Renza looked at her, pointedly.

"...W-Well," Roche scratched behind her ear, "...besides, y'know..."

She let out a sigh, leaning forwards over her cup. Its red contents swirled.

"It's not that simple. I exchanged; I didn't gain."

Roche looked at her speculatively. "...I guess that's how you would see it."

"You think I'm wrong?"

Her friend tilted her head. "Well, you wished to get out of it, right?"

She felt herself twitch, expression darkening. "...Right."

Roche shrugged. "Y'said you wanted to meet him, so, here y'are. Seemed to me you were happy at least. F'what it's worth."

Her friend kicked her under the table. "Hey! It wasn't a bad wish. Don't go thinkin' that."

The tea in her cup swirled dark and red.

"...Right."

* * *

Halushia had stopped.

Odette paused, before dropping back a step, having been leading the way through one of the quieter Commercial districts back to Renza's bola (again...); the foreign girl was looking about, frowning; grimacing like there was a bad taste in the air. The Incubator sat back on its haunches and watched.

She frowned. The girl had been doing that all morning.

"...What is it?"

The foreigner clicked her teeth, flipping her swordstaff off her shoulder so she had it carried in two hands. The childish lilt had disappeared entirely, leaving a dark seriousness that put her on immediate edge.

"Miasma." Halushia said, bluntly. "Is thick all over city."

Odette paled. Holda sent an odd telepathic burst of reassurance, its weight heavy in her hand. "-What?"

The foreigner looked over her shoulder. "Couldn't tell?"

_The flickering non-reality, the cardboard smoke stacks and forests of chains-_

She brought Holda up into a combat stance, trusting her back to the foreigner and watching the rooftops. Petals on Holda's rosette ignited into ruby light, springing to her command. "Where?"

A hand on her shoulder. She almost half-turned in confusion, but couldn't take her eyes off the skyline.

"Not here. Old."

She frowned. "...They moved on?"

"Avoiding us."

"...Preparing for an ambush?"

Another click of her teeth. _"Nie,_ Daemons not that sloppy. Trails unique. All. All through city."

...Her blood ran cold. Holda's rosette sparked as she scanned the streetline. Miasma? Trails?

She tried to sense it, smell it, however it worked. A growing sense of unease. A rising malaise. Holda's rosette, flashing a sequence she just somehow _knew_ how to understand...

Trails. Daemons had passed through here, criss-crossing, using the old undercity more often that not, out of sight save for the shedding of _grief_ and _pain..._

_...She's right. Scheisse, she's right-_

Could they walk on water? Were they affected by water at all? Was there a horde amassing deep below their feet, even now, in a city so big it would be criminally _easy_ to avoid just a few people's notice...?

Halushia spat. _"Wylęgarko!"_

The Incubator tilted its head. _"Tak?"_

The foreigner opened her mouth- then paused, sparing her a glance over her shoulder. Breathing getting heavy. She realised her hands were shaking. Shit.

Halushia shook her shoulder. _"Odya."_

Instinct - her own, not that weird Puella thing - wanted to call up a shield, a protective barrier, anything. She swallowed it down, and gave a nod.

" _Wylęgarka_ , tell. _Belkanye."_

" _Tell what?"_ The Incubator asked, innocently.

Halushia grit her teeth, sending her a pained expression. It took another pointed look at the Incubator before Odette caught on.

"Incubator," she ordered it, "explain the trails."

It answered her easily. _"They were left by Daemons, of course."_

She growled. "Then why are there so _many?"_

The little white creature paused, regarding them at length; its gaze feeling almost calculating. Then it began fluffing its tail.

" _There is a horde growing."_ It told them, casually. _"The signs have been there for a while."_

Odette flinched. "-A _horde?!-"_

Halushia _exploded. "Ty Mnie posłałeś **hordę?!** "_

" _We admit we underestimated its severity, but the recent events make it undeniable. The rage and grief of the city is causing Daemons to spawn at an accelerated rate, in turn spreading further misery and despair amongst the populace and further destabilising the situation. On her own, Renza was never able to keep their numbers down sufficiently; the cycle has been brewing for some time now."_

Halushia was seething. _"Dlaczego więc zadzwonić do mnie?"_

The Incubator tilted its head. _"We were not expecting the riots to escalate this quickly. It was too late to call you off afterwards. It was our own mistake."_

Odette stared at the pair of them.

"W-Wait, what does a horde mean? That's a horde of daemons, right? How many is...?"

Something in the silver of Halushia's sword-staff resonated; gleaming unnaturally in the air with focused power.

"'How many' is 'too many'? Is a balance, yes? Horde is when balance..."

The foreigner faded off into a bitter grimace, then simply tipped her hand. Like a bridge tumbling over into the sea.

" _Daemon propagation is exponential in nature."_ The Incubator chipped in helpfully. " _Most commonly, a 'horde' is defined by Puella Magi as when their number and spawn rate in a given area grows beyond their ability to contain it. The numerical definition thus varies by local Magi and is very imprecise; it's truly problematic..."_

Halushia spat. " _Jebać!_ We go. Run. Leave _now."_

Odette snapped to attention. _"What."_

" _Łatwo przyszło, łatwo poszło._ Will not die here." They put a hand on her shoulder. "Can break out. Teleport, yes? Other city."

She stumbled back, mind whirling. Just leave? Run? But that wo-

The foreigner growled. " _Gówno_ , fine! Save Veneti girl, but run!"

Odette choked- "-We'd leave Valezorro to _die!"_

" _Will die anyway_ , this city!" Halushia tossed her arms out wide; encompassing the empty street, the scattering trash, the distant smoke and rumbles. "Is gone! You stay, die with; you leave, live on!"

"B-But-"

"...Are 15, yes?" The foreigner stepped away, pity in her eyes. _"Young,_ Belkanye. Are _young._ Live longer than this. _Proszę._ "

"But the Daemons-" the numbers they'd get from eating an _entire city_ \- "they'd be _unstoppable_ -"

The Incubator shook it's head, disappointed. _"The horde cannot sustain that population for any length of time, and the geography of this planet will keep it contained. It will explode as it consumes victims, then collapse when the food source is depleted. It's a simple feature of population dynamics even your race has observed-"_

She glared at it, fists clenching. _"Fuck._ _ **Off.**_ _"_

The Incubator tilted its head at her, then turned to the foreigner as if distracted. Halushia, for her part, seemed to be frowning at it intently. A telepathic conversation, she realised.

At length, the Incubator stood on its feet, and calmly walked away. Halushia let out a breath.

Her hands were still shaking.

"Odya," Halushia began, warily.

"I'm fine."

" _Kłamca_. No-one fine."

She shuddered. "I have-" choked - "I-I have _family_ here. _Friends._ "

She felt the hand on her shoulder, the impact shaking her life a leaf in a loose breeze.

" _Odya."_

She looked back up. Autumn scents were playing beneath her nose again; the rustle of trees and grass. Calming.

Halushia was waiting, thinly attempting to smile.

"Save Veneti girl, yes? Need the numbers, either way."

She sighed, hollow and tired. _"How?"_

A shrug. "Is Gem, yes?"

She nodded, frowning.

A flash of silver, and Halushia detransformed to leave her Gem balancing on her finger. In the morning light, it flashed a sudden, interpretable sequence.

"Was show you anyway... " She shrugged, grinning, like it was the simplest thing in the world. "Find Gem. Will train."

* * *

The ice was biting into her hands.

The rising, brassy hum was rattling the walls, the alleyways rippling and twisting around her.

Her legs pounded like lead.

She ran.

* * *

Holda's rosette _flashed,_ and suddenly she knew exactly how to read.

"-Wait!" Odette started, making Halushia look up from where she was concentrating over her Soul Gem. "I got it!"

"Ah, _gratulujemy!_ " The foreigner began. "Now, should-"

Odette took off, hunting the signal across the spires and the rooftops.

"...Or you could do that..." Halina muttered to herself, before flicking out her scarf and joining the pursuit.

* * *

"How are those two anyway? Forgot about them..."

Renza swirled the cup. "Samara's fine. Odette contracted, though."

"-Eh?" Roche nearly lost her hat. " _¿En serio?_ "

" _Si. En rigor."_ She sighed, hollow.

"For, er... for what?"

"Me."

A sympathetic wince. "W-Well... at least you're not alone anymore, right?"

She looked away. The red banners fluttered in a sudden breeze, the cup cold in her hands.

 _Why_ is _this place so blue...?_

Roche tried cracking a grin. "S'not so bad though, right? Y'even match!" Threw her arms out. "Can be the princesses of Valezorro!"

There was a pause, as the accused failed to respond. Looking up, the fractal cerulean sky seemed to flicker; a tape going off its rails.

Tucking her knees in under the table, she hunched over her own teacup, cradling it in her fingers. A _Flores,_ one of the old antique brands from Castilla's time as a Galean holding before the Warring States threw everything into the air; fine ceramic painted with delicate spirals of red and gold, engraved with a matrix inside that would heat up its contents with a little application of mana. Her tea even had milk in it; a luxury raising the dark, bitter colours to a deeper, richer red.

Far and a cry above the cheap, mass-produced thing Roche had been so inexplicably fond of.

_...I don't feel thirsty anymore._

"Say, _por favor_ ," she said, switching to a higher register of Castillan as the gulls landed in a neat, even circle around them, "could you please just let that drop?"

Roche blinked. "-Eh?"

"Calling me 'princess', calling me a 'Delgado'."

"I didn't-" She stumbled- "But- you _are-"_

Odd patterns began emerging in the fractal sea. Frost patterns.

She watched them spread with an idle, exhausted eye. "I am Renza. Renza Veneti."

Darkness was staining the waters now, like pooling, roiling ink.

No, hair-dye.

"Renza-" Roche was tapping the table.

"I was born in the Clinico; to a dead mother and a living father." A cold, empty recital, like a memory being read off a reel. "I was raised in a flat; I was raised in a bola when the work dried up; driven all the way to the sea. But we were happy; life was good. That's all I wanted to be."

There was a _shnnk_ , like a guillotine; her long blue hair abruptly terminated, flying off in the breeze and leaving behind a short, slightly slanted cut above the shoulder. The ink and dye roiled and spun, staining the gulls black as they greedily devoured the off-cuts, cawing.

Roche was standing now. "Renza _stop it_ -"

She raised her teacup, the red contents within overflowing and pouring down her sleeves; staining away the blue of her dress into the red and filigree of a proper Castillan lady. "Don't you remember? It was something you said. Something you laughed at, when I explained it all to you."

An arbalest appeared in a flash of golden yellow. "-Damnit Renza!"

The ink stained her hair, covering over the blue to an _almost_ dark, _almost_ natural black. Stained like tar compared to Roche's natural glossiness.

Not a hint of blue in sight, save for the eyes.

She smiled, serene, as she sipped the red liquid in her hands, ignoring the weapon being levelled at her face.

" _Con el dinero baila el perro._ "

And everything went black.

* * *

She ran, and the ice cracked in her fingers.

Natalie stumbled, leaden feet finally failing her. Crashed down amidst the trash and the gently raining paper, missing how it all drifted back down in a perfect circle.

The brassy hum was bursting her ears.

Even for all that, she couldn't let go out of it. It was weird; a ornate, bejewelled, blackened, _filthy_ thing, oil slick and cracking ice and holding a death grip in her fingers-

The brassy hum stopped.

She blinked, eyes looking up to find the figures watching over her. Too tall. Too false. Heads an impossible, fractured mess. Standing there. Watching.

The ice cracked in her fingers.

Trash and nonsense fluttered down in irregular patterns, the walls of the alleyways twisting up in impossible ways to the somehow visible sky. The figures waited, cloaks fluttering. She watched them, hands freezing. Like a key scene in a play, but all the actors had suddenly lost their lines.

"Who are _you?_ "

She turned. The ground had turned frozen now, red banners fluttering down from the walkways. Organic black ironwork growing in plant-like patterns. Castilla, intruding in improbable ways.

It was a kid. A kid with black hair; real shorty, barely up to her chin. Kid in a fur-lined dress, red, clutching a white teddy-bear, staring at her with confusion and condemnation in an 8-year old's eyes.

Natalie stared. The tall figures behind her kept their silence.

Had she seen this kid before? She felt pretty sure she didn't know this kid. This had to be some upper class brat, that hairpin a Castillan thing. What was a Castillan heir doing here? The red banners fluttered in the nonsensical breeze. What was _Castilla itself_ doing here?

Kid stepped forward.

"I _said_ ," voice shrill, angry, betrayed, "who are _you!?_ "

...Wait. No. That voice...

Her hands felt extremely cold.

Natalie stared in disbelief and a mounting sense of dread as the child continued to glare. "... _Veneti?_ "

The kid just looked confused. And still so, so angry, angrier than an eight year old should ever be allowed to be.

"Who's _'Veneti'_?"

Her throat clammed up. "U-Um..."

She - it? that? - was staring at the ice in her hand. Looking down, it had become black as pitch and somehow darker still; swirling and sick like oil and paint and water sucking the life out of her hand and Kaisers staring at it _hurt_ -

-cracks forming on the edges creeping out into spider webs before her eyes-

-ice splintering under your feet and nothing but the cold of the canals below-

-pixel faced watchers giving no sound. Gave no movements, only _watched_ with confused reverence and paradoxical familiarity-

-kid drawing up haughtily, holding a tiny mittened hand over its heart. "I'm ███████! The █████ of Royalty! You're not supposed to be here!"

Natalie staggered. This wasn't right this couldn't possibly be right-

The kid scowled, feral. "I _said-"_

Charged. No, that couldn't be a kid, it had mirrors and puppet strings and Saints Above those _eyes_ -

" _ **-YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE-"**_

The clap of hand on shoulder was infinitely louder and infinitely softer than it should have been.

It... took her a moment to process the scene.

A white-gloved hand resting softly on the shoulder of - she blinked - a girl in a red dress, reaching out, just inches away from taking Natalie's own hands into her tiny little mittens, breath fogging before a bright, flushed face.

So very small and innocent. Big blue eyes. Kinda cute in that automatic, kiddish sort of way. She blinked down at the kiddo, still just moments from touching the jewel in her hands.

The woman the glove belong to pulled the girl back into a sad, parental embrace. Against the woman in white, the little girl barely reached up to her waist, staring up in confused wonder. Immaculate hair, improbably pink, flowed away behind the woman in a river beyond sight and the white dress spooled out over everything; frills and lace and a peaceful black in the underside.

...No., not black. _Stars_. In the inside of that dress, she could see the stars. The woman's feet weren't even touching the ground, just drifting and floating. Serenely. Gently. Peacefully.

The woman simply watched, holding the tiny girl to her side with sad, golden eyes and an achingly beautiful face.

 _Volk_ -

No. That didn't seem right. Her name. _Her name_...

 _Ma_ -...?

The woman just shook her head; sadness, hope and acceptance all in one; still holding back the child; now seemed lost and confused, blinking up innocently at the woman and the world around her. Was this snow? Motes of light? Flying _up?_ What were they even standing on-

An eternity hung, between those lonely three.

Then the world snapped back into reality, into an alleyway on the edge of the Industrial district, with the heavy thud of an impact behind her, the crash and retort of laser fire and a _clink_ and a draining and an armoured hand holding a fistful of cubes against a gem in her hand that lit up in blue and leaked away the black...

"Found you." Stated Odette Camar.


End file.
